


Loopholes

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Good at Being an Angel (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Bad Guy Deaths, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Gangsters, Gen, Human Trafficking, Hurt Crowley, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Mobsters, Modern slavery, Organized Crime, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Serious Injuries, Slightly Dark Crowley, Smuggling, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale, Sorry no smut this time, The Arrangement (Good Omens), Undercover, Undercover Missions, Violence, all the good people are FINE, but for a good reason, but they deserved it, our ineffables are FINE, people trafficked to work in a salon nothing nasty, sfw, soft Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: When Aziraphale finds out that Crowley has only been passing him the easiest jobs to do as part of the Arrangement, he insists that Crowley lets him join in on a more difficult one. When the next hellish order involves tempting criminals to smuggle humans, angel and demon must find a way to subvert the instructions to fulfil the task without harming any innocents. Crowley and Aziraphale pose as fellow gangsters to infiltrate the mob and take things in a more wholesome direction. Expect lots of comedic bickering.Crowley does have a few darker moments, but all in the name of saving the innocent. There's plenty of light relief to make up for the brief violent bits.  There's no smut in this fic, sorry! They're a bit too busy saving people to fall into bed together this time. Have some light pining on a par with the show instead.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 302
Kudos: 116





	1. Mission Accomplished

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Supergeek21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supergeek21/gifts).



> With thanks to lovely beta readers - Yvesriba, CousinSerena, Raechem.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes on a difficult task for Aziraphale. When the angel finds out that Crowley has been holding back his worse demonic jobs from his side of the Arrangement, he insists that Crowley gives him a chance to help. 
> 
> It does open a little on the dark side, before getting down to some ineffable bickering. They dragged my plans into more comedic moments instead.

He was slithering. It felt more natural this way. His senses were sharper. The senses that mattered anyway. He could taste his surroundings, all scents directional - his prehensile tongue flickering to capture the scent molecules upward and downward, in two directions, interpreting the whole as a mental image of what was around him. 

It was pitch dark, but he could still see the heat too. Not with his eyes, but the infra-red heat signatures of each creature in the darkness stood out like a dull glow. Alongside their terrified scent, he could see everything clearer than if it was broad daylight. 

Crowley slithered closer. 

He’d started out walking. Not running, there was no need to run after the likes of these. He simply stalked, slow and deliberate, through the darkness, away from the compound of buildings, and into the woods. He could hear, see, and smell them well enough in a human shape, but it all became so much more interesting once he shed his bipedal form with a satisfied shudder and weaved his way through the undergrowth. Below their line of sight, no tall human shape to be silhouetted against the moonlight. 

He could perhaps coil his way up a tree and drop down on one from above. Yessss…. That would be _fun…_

It was laughable that they thought they could hide from him. They were only delaying the inevitable. He inched closer, scales barely making a sound as he slipped over the dead leaf litter, closing in on the quivering heat signature ahead. He saw it twitch, heard it whimper as the creature must have heard the minutest whisper of his approach. Good. He could taste its terror intensify now as well. It deserved to feel the fear before he despatched it. 

The human didn’t get two steps into its flight before Crowley struck - faster than the blink of an eye, fangs sank into flesh, dispensing paralysing, rather than lethal venom on this occasion, so he could watch as Crowley swallowed him whole, from the feet up, unable to scream. 

He wiggled slightly, then tasted the air and went after the next one. Two more to go, then he was done. 

Two more brief, truncated screams in the night, and it was over. 

* * *

Aziraphale heard a brief, perfunctory knock on the door, then it opened anyway. He didn’t get up, as the door was locked, which meant the knock was only for politeness and it was Crowley on his way in. He simply turned in his chair slightly as the demon strode in and collapsed down onto the sofa in a cloud of antique bookshop dust. He closed his eyes and sighed. 

Aziraphale knew Crowley well enough by now, that no words were needed for this part. He got up, moved to the kitchenette area at the back, withdrew a bottle of brandy from the cabinet and two glasses, then returned to the office area, and poured out two measures. 

Crowley heard the neck of the bottle on the rim of each glass, and knew from sound alone how long each pour had been. 

"Double," he said, without opening his eyes, and heard Aziraphale glug more into one glass. He smelled the brandy being held closer, and held out his hand. The cool glass was placed into his waiting palm, and he swirled it gently for a moment, hearing the angel’s office chair creak gently as he sat down again, and then opened his eyes and took a gulp. 

Aziraphale sipped at his rather more sedately. Crowley noted that the angel had left the bottle within easy reach of the sofa for refills. He finished his glass and topped it up again before he spoke. 

"Was one of yours," he said. 

Aziraphale looked briefly confused. "One of my what? One of my lot? Angels?"

"Of course not, you feathery fool. If anything the ones involved were _my_ lot. It was one of your _jobs_ , I meant. You gave me three envelopes with miracle and blessing jobs you needed doing as part of the Arrangement. I guess you don’t bother opening them to read what they are first before handing them over - it’s only the addresses that matter really anyway."

"Oh Crowley, I’m so sorry, I should have read them, was it bad?"

"Oh no, don’t apologise, Angel. I’m glad it was for me. I meant it, only the addresses matter, I don’t care what the jobs are, just being helpful if I’m in the area anyway. I just meant I’m glad you didn’t have to deal with it."

"You said you thought those involved were ‘your lot’?" Aziraphale queried, confused. 

"Yeah. At least one was possessed by a minor demon, invited him in, despicable bit of work, the ringleader. He’d possessed a human and was enabling a couple of other very corrupted humans to indulge in evil activities, encouraging them. So I fast-tracked their applications to hell, including the ringleader, sent him back where he came from with a nice little discorporation. It’ll be several centuries before he’s allowed anywhere near Earth again for that bit of carelessness."

Aziraphale was shocked. "My dear, what did you _do?"_

Crowley’s smile was grim. He knocked back more brandy, and smacked his lips appreciatively, nodding at the glass in approval. "This is helping take the taste away," he said. 

"You _ate_ them?"

"Yu _p_. Feet first so they could watch."

"What on earth were they up to?"

Crowley reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope, with a cracked golden angelic seal on it, and tossed it over to Aziraphale. The angel slid out the piece of paper and scanned it with growing horror, then anger. The air crackled slightly and his aura glowed a bit brighter, with a warning jagged blue sharp lightning-edge to it. 

"Oi. No smiting in the bookshop. Cool it down a bit, will ya? I took care of it. Got them before anything happened. Created a diversion, they came out to see what was going on, I sneaked up behind them, gave them a scare so they ran off into the woods, to get them away from there, then I went after them."

Aziraphale tried to tamp down his angelic wrath with difficulty. A small zap arced out from his aura and grounded on a nearby table lamp, making the bulb explode. He jumped in surprise. 

"Hey, I said no smiting! Have a bit more brandy, calm down a bit, it’s fine. I did it. She’s safe." Crowley snapped at the lightbulb to replace it with a miracled-up fresh one. 

"That’s all very well, Crowley, but what if upstairs find out _how_ those terrible humans…"

"...And demonically possessed human…" Crowley interjected. 

"...Yes, yes, and demon, got despatched to hell? I didn’t smite them, there was no miraculous thunderstorm, they were eaten by a giant serpent!"

"Escaped from a zoo." Crowley replied coolly. 

"They’re not going to believe that." Aziraphale snapped. 

"They’re _angels_ , no offence, Aziraphale, but those upstairs lot have no idea what it’s like down here anyway - you could tell them they got trampled by a herd of rampaging _dodos_ and they’d be none the wiser - they don’t care who does what or how, so long as the job gets done. Job’s done, end of problem."

"Well clearly not, if you’re halfway down my best brandy. I wouldn’t call that ‘end of problem’" Aziraphale sniped. 

Crowley paused partway through topping off his glass again, and met the angel’s gaze. 

"Well…" he hesitated, unsure how to proceed. 

Aziraphale sighed and gave him a soft look. 

"It got to you, didn’t it dear?"

Crowley wrinkled his nose as if to deny it, but it was pointless lying to Aziraphale. He shrugged instead. 

"‘M fine." he mumbled. 

"Crowley, you’re _not_ fine. Have you done the other two yet? Give them here, let me finish them." 

"Done one, nothing big, minor miracle, haven’t done the other yet."

"Have you read it?"

"Not yet."

"Well give it here, let me finish it, you need a rest."

"Aziraphale, I’m _fine."_

"No you are not." Aziraphale insisted. He stood up and held his hand out expectantly for the other envelope. Crowley grudgingly reached into his pocket and withdrew it, then handed it over. Aziraphale took it and sat down again, broke the seal and read over the details. It wasn’t anything major, an easy enough blessing to do, but a thought occurred to him. 

"Hold on, are you implying that you’ve been reading yours before you hand them to me, and cherry picking only the easier tasks for me to do?"

Crowley twitched his lip and avoided eye contact. 

"You have, haven’t you? You haven’t had me do anything truly evil at all."

"Of course I bloody haven’t, you’re an angel!" Crowley snapped. "What kind of friend would I be if I sent you off to do something despicable?"

"Well as tonight clearly shows, some of my own tasks are fairly despicable to deal with as well. It’s only fair, Crowley."

"It’s different, Aziraphale. You don’t know the half of it, what they tell me to do."

"Crowley, I know for a fact that you don’t do anything truly despicable. I can see the truth of you, you know."

"Oi, that’s rude. No ethereal snooping with those bloody eyes of yours! Can’t a demon have some damn secrets?"

"I don’t make a habit of it, dear. And never anything detailed, but I can see your aura, Crowley, and there’s nothing serious staining it - in fact your aura is a thing of beauty. There’s…"

"Don’t you fucking DARE say ‘goodness’, or you’ll regret it."

"Very well, I won’t, but there is." Aziraphale finished, primly. "But if you had done truly evil acts, it would show."

"That’s because about ninety percent of what I do is thinking in circles around the bastards. Mr. Loophole, that’s me. There’s ways of interpreting tasks that allows you to carry them out, without actually doing much harm."

"Why couldn’t I do that then?"

"You’re not enough of a bastard, Angel"

"I contest that remark most ardently."

Crowley snorted in derision. 

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed with righteous indignation. 

"Well, allow me to prove it then. The next task you get sent that you would usually conceal from me, you’ll share with me instead."

"No."

"Why not?"

"You’re an _angel,_ too dangerous." Crowley shook his head dismissively.

"I’ll have you know that I am a Principality, I am a warrior, and danger is not something that factors into whether I take on a job or not." 

"No."

"Compromise then: we’ll do it _together,_ that way you’ll be there to ‘protect’ me, won’t you?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, then met Aziraphale’s gaze. He let his head fall back on the arm of the sofa in resignation. 

"Right, _fine._ Whatever you want, Angel. Sure. Come do some dirty work with me, if it’ll make you happy. I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise." 

Aziraphale stood and stepped over to the sofa, arm outstretched. Crowley looked at it blankly.

"Well?" Aziraphale asked.

"Well what?"

"Shake on it. I would hope you are a demon of your word."

Crowley sighed dramatically, but nonetheless reached out to take Aziraphale’s hand and shook it. There was a brief tingle and he snatched his hand back sharply. 

"Oi!"

"Just a little ethereal magic, the pact is binding. The next tricky task you’re sent; you will be compelled to share with me."

Crowley bared his fangs at the angel but there was no real menace in his snarl. He slumped back on the sofa again, finished his brandy, and eventually dozed off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally began writing a darker fic with Crowley dispensing justice, but after the opening scenes, instead they decided to start being silly. I ended up having to go back and edit the opening to make it less dark as it was too jarring with how the rest of the fic turned out. 
> 
> Next chapter, Crowley gets his next set of orders from Hell, and wonders how he can get out of sharing it with Aziraphale. Except Aziraphale has been Just Enough Of A Bastard...


	2. Schrödinger’s envelope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets new instructions from hell. He wonders if he can find a loophole to get out of telling Aziraphale what it involves. Turns out that Aziraphale was Just Enough Of A Bastard and planned for that.

Crowley glared at the envelope. 

He hadn’t opened it yet. It might be something easy. It might be something hard. 

It was Schrödinger’s envelope: both good news and bad, until opened, observed, and waveform collapsed. 

… If he ignored it then he couldn’t be obliged to hand it over to Aziraphale, as he didn’t know if it was a bad one or not. 

… On the other hand, if he ignored it, he would also get into quite considerable trouble with Hell. Trouble involving new and interesting uses for rusty metal hacksaw blades. And you’d be amazed at how much pain Hastur could inflict with a mere pin. He shuddered. 

He paced his flat, on edge, like a caged tiger, occasionally glaring at the envelope on his desk as he passed it, and snarling at it silently. The glossy blood-red seal taunted him by its mere presence. 

Finally, he flung himself down onto his throne and glared at it some more, then snatched it up, allowed one fingernail to morph into a razor sharp claw, and slit the envelope open. There was a subtle waft of brimstone stench as he did, and he wrinkled his sensitive nose in disgust. 

Crowley slid the sheet of paper out cautiously, then took a breath and unfolded it, eyes rapidly scanning the text for keywords, a feeling of cold dread sinking into the pit of his stomach. 

He shoved it back in the envelope again and flung it back on the table, then stared out of the window, thinking. 

His hand began to itch.

Crowley scratched at it distractedly, and continued trying to think his way not just  _ around  _ the problem, as he usually did, but  _ out  _ of the problem, or at least out of his obligation to share it with Aziraphale. 

His hand itched some more. 

It was making thinking rather difficult. He scratched it and laid it on the cool marble of his desk to soothe it. The itch diminished only slightly, then started up again. He scratched again, and then laid his head down on the table, thunking his forehead against the slab of stone a couple of times in frustration as he tried to corral his thoughts. His arms spread wide on the cold surface, stretched out towards the far edge. 

The itching soothed ever so slightly for a moment, then returned. 

He looked up at his hand, puzzled. 

Cogs spun. 

He inched his hand closer to the phone, the itch eased, then after a moment, began anew. 

Crowley’s brow furrowed, and he reached out to touch the phone handset - the itching stopped. He waited. It began again. 

He picked the handset up, the itching stopped. He waited, then it began again. 

"You bastard," he muttered under his breath, and began to dial Aziraphale’s number, the itching stopped. 

* * *

"I’m afraid we’re closed this afternoon."

"You’re a bastard"

"Well I don’t believe there’s any reason to take that tone…"

"It’s  _ me _ , Aziraphale."

"Oh, Crowley!" There was a pause. "... There’s still no reason to take that tone with me."

"My bloody hand is going to keep itching until I actually TELL you, isn’t it?"

"..."

_ "... Isn’t it?"  _

"... Possibly."

"As I said… bastard."

"... So are you going to tell me then?"

"Guess I bloody have to, don’t I?"

"You did agree to."

_ "...bastard." _ Crowley muttered again, under his breath.

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing. It’s trafficking."

"Traffic? I thought you just drove around that kind of thing."

"Not vehicular traffic you haloey harp-jockey. Human trafficking. The new assignment. Luring humans into evil acts bollocks. Well, I’m to get some humans to sink to the level of bloody human trafficking. You said you wanted in - well we’ve got to come up with a way to follow the instructions while not actually hurting anyone."

"You have to tempt humans into abducting other humans and do it in such a way as not to cause any harm?"

"That’s about it, now you see why my job is no bloody picnic. They’ll not be nice people to deal with either, Angel. There’s a real discorporation risk."

"Well if I get discorporated I shall simply say that I was thwarting you and got caught in the crossfire."

"Not the  _ point _ , Aziraphale…" Crowley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"I’m sure we can work something out, don’t be despondent, dear."

"I’m not despondent. I’m just trying to work out all the possible ways I’m going to have to save your feathery arse in this endeavour when it goes wrong."

"You mean if. _ If  _ it goes wrong."

_ "When." _

"Don’t be so negative. You’ve got out of every other bit of evil so far, haven’t you? I’m sure this will be no different. Shall we convene at Mary’s coffee shop to discuss tactics, perhaps? Shall we say 4pm?"

"The Enterprise pub, Red Lion Street, 4:30. I’m not drinking coffee, I need something harder to get through a bloody planning exercise with you."

"...Crowley?"

"Yeah?"

"I thought you said that I wasn’t  _ enough  _ of a Bastard the other evening?"

"Clearly I changed my mind."

"So it seems." Aziraphale replied.

"You’re  _ wiggling _ , aren’t you?"

"Pardon?"

"You’re doing that self-satisfied little wiggle you do when you’re right. I can almost  _ hear  _ you doing it."

"Preposterous," Aziraphale responded, but still unable to keep the smile from his voice.

"4:30 then, and you’re getting the first round in." 

* * *

Aziraphale bought a double of Talisker over ice, and a sherry for himself, taking a seat opposite Crowley, and bringing out a small, neat notebook and a fountain pen, looking eager to get started. Crowley rolled his eyes. 

"Right, so...." he unfolded the letter of instructions. "Downstairs have got their eye on a group of miscreants they think could get dragged further down to seal their souls for Hell if they get a bit more depraved in their criminal activity. Right now it’s petty theft, minor fraud, the usual. But they think a nudge toward human trafficking should do the job to tarnish their souls forever and seal the deal."

"So you’d be expected to… encourage them into such nefarious activity?"

"Broadly, yeah. Tempt them into branching out into worse crimes. If it were Hastur, he’d probably befriend them, weasel his way into the group, then start dropping hints about things he’s got up to with previous cronies that netted them a big payday with little risk, then just nudge them along the path. Treat them like little toys: wind ‘em up then let ‘em go. Stand back and watch it unfold. File the paperwork, job done."

"So how do we use the letter of the instruction, and follow it without precisely following it? How do we subvert the order?"

"Aye, there’s the rub." Crowley sighed. "Normally it’d be something like getting them to trick some young women from Eastern Europe, sweet talk them and persuade them that there’s some nice honest, good paying work to be had over here - cleaners, secretaries, modelling maybe, use some fake job adverts, tell them you’ll arrange all their transport, visas and accommodation. Then get them over here, swipe the passports and… Well, let’s just say it’s not secretarial work they’ll be doing. More like sweatshops, fruit picking, clam digging, illegal salons and, well, there’s worse stuff."

"Oh Crowley, that’s  _ terrible." _

"Yes I  _ know _ , Angel. That’s why I’ve got to work out a loophole somewhere. Calm yourself, I’m not gonna let it happen. Never have yet, not intending to." 

He finished his whisky, and caught the barman’s eye. Being a regular, he didn’t need to say anything. The landlord brought the rest of the bottle of Talisker to the table and left it there. Crowley’s black credit card had its own tab. The demon nodded in thanks and poured himself another, then as Aziraphale finished his sherry, simply poured a measure of Scotch into his empty glass as well, ignoring the protests. 

"Doesn’t this kind of planning require a clear head?" Aziraphale queried. 

"Nah, sometimes you need some off-the-wall ideas to think in circles around these things. C’mon - drink up. Throw me any ideas you have, doesn’t matter how random they sound. Gimme."

"Could we persuade them to smuggle something other than people, perhaps?"

"Nope, letter says human trafficking. Can’t go substituting llamas or ostriches or anything."

"Well how about just moving them without the horrible coerced job at the other end?"

"Aziraphale, there’s a difference between ‘trafficking’ and ‘travel agent’. We’re not asking them to set up a bloody holiday business here."

"It does sound so awful, definitely a one-way ticket to hell for them, I suppose." Aziraphale sighed and sipped at his whisky. 

"One-way ticket… one way..."Crowley was mulling something over. "I mean, smuggling can go in various directions, so long as it’s concealing humans to move them from point A to point B and someone is going to be angry at the end of it - what if… what iiiiiifffff….." His face lit up. "GOT IT!"

"You do?"

"Yesssss - Still gonna be smuggling innocent humans from one country to another, but how about we set up as a ‘criminal gang’ of our own, hire the bastards to abduct the women HERE, and traffick them BACK to where they belong? Stealing them from the gang who currently holds them, and taking them back to where they live again safely? We’re still doing something that falls under the remit of trafficking, pissing people off, involving criminal elements, but back to front. I mean we don’t have to tell them that the women are getting set free at the end. We tell 'em we’re stealing from another criminal gang and there’s a load of money in it for them if they keep their mouths shut and play nice."

Aziraphale looked stunned for a moment, then a slow smile of appreciation spread across his features. "Crowley, you really are quite a magnificently cunning serpent, do you know that?"

Crowley grinned, raised his glass in a silent toast, and knocked it back. 

"I have my moments." He leaned forwards, elbows on the table. "So, tell me Angel; how bastardly can you  _ really  _ be? If you’re going to pretend to be my literal partner in crime?" 


	3. Manicures and mobsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn't approve of Aziraphale's sartorial choices. Aziraphale gets to know some people in need of rescue, then Crowley introduces him to the criminal underworld. Together they begin putting wheels in motion.

"Crowley, I really don’t see how this suit has anything to do with this mission."

"You’re supposed to be a criminal mastermind, a mobster, someone with plenty of cash to splash. I’m not having you trailing around after me looking all moth-eaten and covered in book dust."

"It’s not my style at all."

"That’s the  _ point _ . I mean you managed to look a bit more swish when you did that Nazi book heist, what’s the difference? I mean it’s still pale tones, just updated and sharper cut, more modern tailoring. You don’t have to wear it when this is over, although I’d honestly be much obliged if you do. It’s about time you updated your wardrobe."

"You haven’t bought a new suit."

"I don’t need to; I’m already projecting the image I want to. Now get a move on, we’ve got an unsavoury mobster-run casino to get to by 9."

"But that’s hours away."

"Yes I know, but before that, you’re also changing your manicurist from your usual salon. I’ve got you an appointment somewhere else."

"But why? Edith has been doing my nails for years."

"Because you’re the sweet, soft approachable one, and I need you to slowly befriend the girls in this salon, so that they trust us to get them home again."

"Are you coming too?"

"Nope, just you is more plausible, you’re nice. If there’s the two of us, the management might pin us as some kind of competition and get edgy. I’m going after the bunch I’m to tempt. You get to know the girls. Use whatever angelic persuasion you need to get them to trust you, see if they’ll open up at all. How’s your Polish?"

"I’m a bit rusty."

"Well hopefully you’ll get up to speed a bit once you’re immersed in it again. Be aware they’re unlikely to open up about their working conditions while management are around, so don’t get too direct unless it’s quiet. Y’know, like the person in charge pops out back for a cigarette break or something, got it?"

"Yes, Crowley, I  _ have  _ done things like this before, you know." 

Crowley gave him a sceptical look. "Sure you have. Right, c’mon." He led Aziraphale out to the Bentley. "Place is called ‘Five Star Nails’, just get whatever it is you usually get, but get yourself booked in again for tomorrow or something, cite an appointment you have to get to for the excuse to split up your visits - go back and get a pedicure, foot massage or whatever, then break a nail, go back for a repair, you get the idea - become a regular. We’ve got a couple of months to work on this and it’ll take a while for them to get comfortable opening up to you. I’ll be back to pick you up in an hour and a half, then we’ll set off to the casino to work on the other lot."

* * *

Aziraphale glanced up at the familiar engine note of the Bentley pulling up outside. 

"Oh I say, is that the time already? My, doesn’t time fly? Well you’ve done a splendid job, Agata, superb. I’m afraid the pedicure will have to wait until next time, but do take care, my dear.  _ Do widzenia. _ "

He gave the nail tech a warm smile. She returned it nervously. 

Agata was quite overwhelmed at how quickly she’d grown to like the eccentric Englishman, he seemed very nice and reminded her vaguely of her uncle. He left her a large tip, which the bitch Kasia immediately stomped forward to snatch - nothing missed her eagle-eyed vision when it came to money, then the friendly Englishman left and got into a big, old-looking black fancy car.

* * *

"All good, Angel?"

"Oh yes, we had a lovely chat, charming young lady, she wants to be a geologist really. It turns out she’s from Orchówek over in East Poland, it’s not far from Wlodawka as it happens, I was in that area once, oh, a few hundred years ago at least, so it wasn’t that easy to choose topics and landmarks that are still relevant, but I claimed to be interested in historical architecture and I think I pulled it off mentioning some of the older churches and suchlike. She did give me a funny look and I think I slipped up with a few rather out-of-date words and phrases, but she put it down to me learning Polish from particularly ancient textbooks."

"You found all that out in an hour and a half?" Crowley was incredulous.

"Well yes, I  _ have  _ been doing this for some time, Crowley. Humans have an implicit trust of Angels, you know, they open up rather easily, especially if you’re kind to them and listen properly."

"This might go faster than I thought then. Need to talk to all of the girls though, pretty sure almost all of them didn’t expect to be working over 12 hour days in a nail salon and sharing 8 to a bedroom in a flop house when they were enticed over here. The manageress is in on it though, so don’t let on to her, will you?"

"Yes, she stole the tip from Agata. I had to pretend I didn’t see, much as I wanted to remonstrate with her."

"Good move. This lot tonight, gonna have to recruit them to do a couple of little minor jobs so it’ll be plausible that they’ve earned my trust to be asked to do the trafficking one later. Tonight I’ll be getting them to get hold of some tax evaded booze."

"Must you have them break the law, Crowley?"

"Of course I bloody have to. You can’t just waltz up to a complete stranger and say "excuse me, I need to steal a bunch of nail techs from under a mobster’s nose and smuggle them back to their loved ones in Poland, you in? Oh, and by the way, the mobster is heavily armed and will absolutely come for you when he finds out."

"Alright, alright, I take your point. I still don’t like it."

"I did tell you my job’s not nice, Angel. A little bit of duty evasion on a crate or two of vodka is hardly the crime of the century in the grand scheme of things. And it’ll get us the means to smuggle those girls home."

"Yes, I see sometimes you have to choose the lesser of two evils."

"Yup. Now try to look like the kind of strong-silent type bastardly mobster that no one wants to cross. Just y’know - look disapproving at everything, don’t say much. Imagine one of them is browsing your books and looking like he’s about to try to buy one - that look, you know the one. That kind of ‘I’m tired of your shit already and I don’t even know you’ look."

Crowley glanced away from the road to look at Aziraphale. "Yes, that’s the one, you’ve got it, great."

"Crowley, I was just looking at you like I usually do when you’re driving."

"Well if that works, use it."

* * *

"Casino" was a bit of a generous descriptor for the place Crowley had brought him. It definitely had an air of the seedier, shadier kind of establishment, a kind of night time equivalent venue to how St. James’s park was used during the day - a place for people who had no business talking to one another, to carry out discreet conversations and deals under the guise of ordinary activity. 

Of course there was also gambling aplenty, and no doubt some games rigged more in the house’s favour than usual. Crowley indicated that Aziraphale should take a seat with a drink at a table, then sidled up to one of the gaming tables nearby, sitting down next to a short and skinny dark-haired guy with the kind of cheap suit that someone buys when they think it looks like an expensive suit, which it doesn’t. 

The guy glanced up when Crowley sat down next to him, and there was a brief flash of recognition. They played a few hands, Crowley murmuring the odd bit of conversation with the guy, and then after the next hand, both folded and came to join Aziraphale. 

"Mikey, this is my associate, Mr. Beige. Mr Beige; Mikey."

Mikey looked afraid, and extended a hand nervously. Aziraphale, taking his cue from Crowley’s body language, gave Mikey a long, cool look, and remained silent as the human dropped his hand again, looking awkward. 

"Mr. Beige does not shake hands." Crowley stated. "Sit down."

Mikey did, licking his lip and looking generally uncomfortable. Aziraphale was putting his steely grey-blue gaze to good use, along with his ability to  _ see  _ people on more than just the superficial level, which always left humans feeling very exposed, even if they couldn’t see the thousand ethereal eyes peering at them from another plane of reality. The piercing look could be useful for intimidating even the most awkward human into a terrified silence. Finally, the angel spoke. 

"I’m told," he began, in a quiet, level voice, "... that you can help us with a little job."

"That’s right," Mikey nodded, eager to please.

"And I trust that you can do it with the minimum of fuss, and utmost discretion." Aziraphale stated.

"Yes sir."

"Good." Aziraphale sat back and took a drink, giving Crowley a curt nod. 

"How fast can you get your crew together?" Crowley asked Mikey. 

"Half an hour, maybe an hour? I’ll have to call ‘em…"

"Do so. One hour. I have a private room reserved, once they get here, ask the waitress to show you to the VIP suite."

"Yes sir." Mikey fumbled for his mobile phone and began stabbing at the screen hastily. "No problem, Mr. Red, sir."

Crowley gave him a slow, humourless smile, then promptly blanked him and turned his attention to his own drink. 

* * *

Angel and demon lounged back on a comfortable sofa in the VIP suite, a private gaming room off the main lounge, sipping martinis. 

"Nice job there, Aziraphale, very intimidating. Keep it up, you got it spot on."

Aziraphale broke character and smiled, then paused. 

"Mr. Beige,  _ really?" _

"Well I’m Mr. Red."

"But beige?! Are you mocking my coat?" 

"Er...."

"I'll have you know it's  _ cream _ , not beige!" 

"Well I didn’t exactly want them looking up ‘A. Z. Fell’s’ and trying to do something to the bookshop."

"I see your point, but why couldn’t I have chosen my own name?"

"Because you’d have chosen something ridiculous and literary like Mr. Sweedlepipe, Mr Honeythunder, Mr Pumblechook, Mr Fezziwig...."

_ "I’ll have you know…" _ Aziraphale cut in, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

"Enter." Crowley snapped. 

Mikey entered, trying to look a bit less nervous now he was in front of his partners in crime. Crowley had evidently met at least two of them before and he gave them curt nods, and indicated a couple of chairs on the other side of the table that they could sit on. 

"This is Andrej, Tom, and… who’s your other friend, Mikey?" Crowley asked, introducing them to Aziraphale. 

"That’s Callum." Exhibit C looked a bit burlier, and less intimidated than the rest. He nodded back. 

"Right. Well it’s a simple job. There’s five pallets of premium vodka being held at a staging point near Dieppe. Your job is to get it to the staging point over near Maidenhead with as little fuss as possible."

Callum shifted in his seat and tipped his head to one side. "Too easy, why you not doin’ it yourself?" Mikey’s eyes went wide and he looked like he very much wanted to excuse himself to the bathroom. Crowley smirked and leaned forward, eyes boring into Callum’s despite his shades, his demonic menace just starting to glimmer around the edges of his aura: unseen, but absolutely felt. Each human suddenly felt a chill down their spine. He spoke quietly, but with the maximum edge of sharp menace to his tone.

"Because, my shaven-headed friend - I need you to prove to me that you are not the absolute incompetent twatwaffles that a question like that implies. That you are capable of carrying out a simple task swiftly, to the letter, and with the minimum of inconvenience to myself or my associate. Should you prove capable of that, then perhaps you can be trusted with something a little more… profitable."

Callum dropped his gaze first, and began inspecting his hands thoroughly. Crowley sat back, lounging against the back of the sofa, utterly relaxed and confident. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a few large wads of cash, which he tossed on the table as if they were pennies. 

"Half up front. Half on completion. Then you get a 20% bonus for no cock-ups. Any questions?"

"And if we cock it up?" Andrej asked, hesitantly. 

Crowley smiled a slow smile again with far too many teeth in it. 

"Oh I don’t think you want to worry yourselves about what happens if you… disappoint… me." He gave Aziraphale a sideways glance with a raised eyebrow. The angel took his prompt and responded with his own humourless grin. 

"There’s a taxi outside the door for you," Crowley continued, "...on the back seat you will find a bag with burner phones for each of you and a sat nav with the locations marked. Once you clear Calais, you will receive an email with further instructions. Now scram."

The gang stood, smiled and nodded nervously, then made themselves scarce. Crowley could hear Mikey remonstrating with Callum in the corridor outside as they left. 

Crowley knocked back the last of his martini and sucked the olive off the cocktail stick in an absolutely over-the-top lewd manner, then grinned at Aziraphale. 

"Well," he said brightly, "that went as well as can be expected, nice one. Back to the bookshop for a nightcap d’you think?"

Aziraphale still hadn’t quite recovered from the entire olive spectacle, and simply nodded, wide-eyed and wordlessly. 


	4. Surveillance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley plans a stakeout, Aziraphale wishes he could delete the letter s off it. 
> 
> Ineffable bickering at it's best.

Crowley picked up Aziraphale from the salon again, watching as the angel waved a cheery goodbye to the girls. 

"So, what’d you find out today?"

"Oh, Magdalena is the sweetest girl, although she did accidentally nick my toe with the cuticle nippers."

"Not much of a nail tech then?"

"On the contrary, I think she’s doing marvellously, given that she never wanted to do the job, she _wanted_ to go to university to train as an architect. She only meant to take a gap year doing an internship in the UK to gain some international experience, but it turned out of course, that the job listing for an architect’s assistant in London turned out to be not quite as legitimate as she’d hoped."

"How long ago was that?"

"Four years, she tells me. The girls get pocket money and at first were told that most of their wages would be sent home to their families, after money had been taken out for their accommodation and ‘training’, all nonsense of course. The bosses send nothing back. And the abysmal accommodation has extortionate rent. She shares a room with five other girls, and a total of twenty-six in the entire flat together, all sharing one bathroom, and it’s riddled with mould. They’ve only got mattresses on the floor, not even proper beds. They don’t all work in salons, others are working in restaurants and on farms."

"She told you all that straight off the bat?"

"Well, Kasia had stepped out, and Magdalena is braver than most, I think she recognises that I might be there to try to help. I suppose I inspire trust. Anyhow, I’ve made an appointment to go back, so I can get to know some of the others as well."

Crowley nodded and swerved around a taxi, prompting Aziraphale to grab hold of the door handle and fling him a dirty look. 

"Well Mikey and the lads smuggled the vodka in ok. Meeting them again in half an hour so I can give them another task, then after this one we can start talking about the big job."

"And the other task?"

"Get ‘em to fence the vodka. It’ll keep them busy for a week or two while you carry on getting to know the women at the salon. If Mikey’s gang proves to me they can handle the money and not try to pull a fast one by fudging the figures to give themselves a bigger cut than agreed, then they might earn my trust."

They pulled up outside a pub which Aziraphale chuckled to note was named "The Adam and Eve", and made their way to a quiet corner of the bar. The clientele seemed to be an unsavoury looking bunch on a par with the kind of person who hung out at the dodgy casino the other week. Crowley’s gaze flicked around and Aziraphale saw the demon tense momentarily. 

A burly and extremely tattooed skinhead stood, evidently recognising Crowley, and grinned, hand extended. Crowley shook it. 

"Davey, good to see you, meet my colleague, Doctor Vanilla." Aziraphale shot him an irritated look, while Crowley tried not to smirk too much. "Doctor Vanilla, meet Davey, sometime colleague of mine." Aziraphale shook the proffered hand stiffly, with a polite nod. After some polite small talk, Crowley and Aziraphale took a seat, and as Davey didn’t seem inclined to leave, Crowley expended a minor miracle to persuade him he had somewhere else to be. 

After Davey had gone, Aziraphale shot Crowley a venomous look and muttered into his beer. _"Doctor Vanilla?"_

"What? You didn’t like Beige."

"Well I _certainly_ don’t appreciate _‘Doctor Vanilla’_ " Aziraphale hissed back

"So? What would you have chosen then?"

"Something far more sensible, like…" Aziraphale was cut off again as Mikey and his crew walked in. Still, the irritation on the angel’s face helped put him in the right frame of mind to project his aloof mobster persona more effectively. 

"Afternoon Mr Red, Mr Beige…" Mikey greeted them nervously. "All delivered as promised to yer lockup."

"So I’ve heard," Crowley commented. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a few envelopes which he slid across the table. "The rest of the payment plus bonus as promised." He didn’t take his hand from the top of the envelopes however. "Although if you’re interested in something rather _more_ profitable than this, then…" The demon winked. "I might have some other little bits and bobs you could take care of." He lifted his hand from the envelopes and sat back. 

"How much more profitable?" Mikey asked, cautiously.

"Probably double what you just made. That’s still just for starters. You interested?"

"Depends what it is."

Crowley glanced sideways at Aziraphale. "Well, Mr. Beige? Are you pleased with their performance thus far?"

Aziraphale pondered a moment, then gave a curt nod.

"Well it looks like you’ve met my associate’s approval. I suppose we can let you know what it is." He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a business card, which he slid across the table to the criminal. "Call the number on this card, ask for Scott. He’s got one or two contacts to get you started. You’ve got one month to fence the lot of that vodka. I’ve already given Scott the figures on margins and whatnot, although I’m entrusting you with keeping account accurately. Thirty-five percent to you after expenses, Scott takes twenty-five, the rest comes to me."

"You got it, boss."

"Good. Do not disappoint me. Especially do not disappoint Mr. Beige. That is not something you ever want to do, believe me."

Aziraphale treated them to a dead-eyed stare. They hastily collected their envelopes, nodded politely, and left. 

* * *

After the criminals had left, Crowley discussed the next step. 

"Surveillance."

"On whom?"

"Joe’s lot, they’re the ones who trafficked the girls into the UK in the first place and are holding them against their will."

"Oh, that sounds exciting."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "It’s not ‘exciting’, Aziraphale. It’s surveillance, which is 99% boring as hell. There’s lurking involved. I mean, have you ever lurked? Would you know how to even start?" 

"I’m sure it can’t be that difficult."

"Don’t ever let Hastur or Ligur hear you say that, it’s their speciality, they spent centuries perfecting the art. Olympic-grade lurkers, the pair of them. It must be a demonic thing. I mean _I’ve_ got the knack, obviously, but I never met an angel yet who could lurk worth a damn."

"Well I’ve got you to teach me, haven’t I? I’m sure you’ll do a sterling job, Crowley." Aziraphale gave him a winning smile. 

"Nnnnnghhhhh, fine, sure. Let’s just cut to a lurking-education montage with Bruce Springsteen’s _‘Born to Lurk’_ playing over the top shall we?" *

"Pardon?"

"Doesn’t matter. Just… be unobtrusive, ok? Oh, who am I kidding, you’re dressed up entirely in pale colours and stand out like a bar of soap in a coal scuttle. We’ll be in the Bentley anyway, I’ll just give her a bit of a concealment miracle, anyone looking at her won’t really notice what she is, just register some kind of generic car shape, an empty one."

* * *

Aziraphale’s stomach was rumbling. 

"Angel, we’ve only been at this for…" he checked his watch, "...half an hour, and you’re _already_ hungry?"

"Well there’s a Chinese takeaway just over there, perhaps I could…"

"No."

"I was just going to say we could get…"

"No."

"But…"

"No food in the Bentley. I don’t want her getting all smelly and bits of sauce flicked on the upholstery, not a chance. Wait till we get home."

Aziraphale pouted, and opened his book at his bookmark.

"Can I put the interior light on?"

"No."

"But I want to read."

"If we put the light on it might distract from the bloody concealment miracle I’ve placed on the car. Besides, you’re an angel, you don’t need light to read, just like you don’t need those ridiculous glasses you put on. They’re not even _prescription."_

"They look nifty," Aziraphale responded, with wounded pride. 

"Give me strength…" Crowley bounced his forehead off the steering wheel in frustration. 

"So what are we looking for, exactly?"

"Well that place over there is the usual place they hang out - the flat over the bookies, I know who most of the gang are already - I’ve bumped into them before. Just want to see who’s still there that I know already, and what new faces they’ve got, know what we’re up against."

Another hour elapsed, then Crowley’s pin-sharp night vision picked out movement. "Aziraphale - that guy in the black leather jacket on the other side of the street, coming this way… that’s Jimmy, one of Joe’s henchmen. Nasty piece of work, and got access to a couple of illegal firearms, you want to watch out for that one. I guess he got off on the last charge he was arrested on - slippery bastard."

Aziraphale folded his book closed and looked at his watch. 

"Oh. I thought it’d be later than that."

"I did warn you it’d be tedious, Angel."

"I should have brought another book."

Crowley grumbled and grabbed his phone, tapped on the screen a bit, then shoved it into Aziraphale’s hands. 

"There, complete works of Shakespeare, knock yourself out."

"What, you had this all on this tiny phone? Especially for me?"

"It’s the internet, Angel. It’s all there, just… just don’t try to understand, I can find something else for you to read if you want."

"No, no, this is fascinating, thank you."

…

…

"Crowley…?"

"Yup?"

"... What’s an ‘inapp purchase?’"

Crowley snatched the phone back again. "It’s ‘in-app’, and what the bloody hell are you doing? I can’t believe I’m going to have to enable some kind of parental child block on my bloody mobile to make it angel-proof…" He stabbed the screen several more times then thrust it back into Aziraphale’s hands. "There."

…

…

"Oh. It says there are some lonely ladies in my area who want to talk to me…"

Crowley snatched the phone back again and shoved it in his pocket. 

"But I was reading…"

"No."

"But…"

"No."

"Crowley...."

"To quote _Hamlet_ , Act III, Scene III, line 87… No!"

Aziraphale’s stomach rumbled again.

"Oh, can’t you turn that bloody thing off?"

"Crowley!"

"Well, you can just remind your corporation it doesn’t _need_ that stuff, can’t you?"

"I’ve no idea."

"Look, I promise I’ll treat you to the best meal North of the Thames tomorrow but for now, can we just _pretend_ to be professionals?"

Aziraphale pouted some more. 

"Shit."

"What?"

"That’s him - Joe, Big Man Joe. He’s leaving - I guess that black Mercedes G-wagen is his. Going to do some tailing." Crowley put the Bentley into gear, waited until the Mercedes was at the end of the street, and then pulled out after it. 

Traffic was sparse at this time of night, but he tried to keep at least two cars between himself and the Merc as they slowly tailed it through the dark streets, keeping a subtle distance. Eventually it pulled up outside some fancy ironwork gates with a remote controlled automatic opening device, paused, drove through, and the gates closed behind it. Crowley pulled up a little way down the street. 

"Right, well, he hasn’t moved house then, at least we know where he goes when he’s not working. That’ll do for tonight. Let’s get you home, and I’ll order some takeaway to be delivered to the bookshop for when we get there, sound good?"

"Absolutely. I’m famished." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * lurking dialogue inspired by the book ;)


	5. The Big Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's patience with Crowley's pseudonym choices grows thin. He's been getting to know the ladies at the salon better. He and Crowley decide to offer Mikey's gang a more profitable job.

Aziraphale climbed into the Bentley, waving happily back at the girls in the salon. "Cheerio, ladies, see you later!"

"So, what’d you get this time?"

"Oh, it was a rather lovely paraffin wax hand treatment - really softens up the skin and…"

"Not the  _ treatment,  _ you fluffy menace, what did you  _ find out?" _

"Ah, I see, well I was chatting to Ewa today, and do you know, her great uncle was a priest at that St. John the Merciful church, that lovely old place in Orchówek. She was working as a dentist when a better job advert cropped up over in the UK, and I’m sure you know the rest."

Crowley gave a mildly impressed grunt. The angel was better at this than he’d hoped. 

"Well we’re off to meet Scott to get an update on how Mikey’s lot are doing with the vodka. Not far from here."

They pulled up outside a rather derelict looking industrial unit, and made their way through the echoing halls of a now-empty production line for something or other, to an office at the back up a set of stairs. Presumably once the overseer’s office, with panoramic windows looking out over the vacant factory floor below. Crowley knocked once and breezed in, Aziraphale in tow. 

"Scotty! How you doin’?"

A wizened looking gent in his sixties, a few strands of hair carefully combed over his balding scalp, peered at them from behind thick-lensed glasses. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He sat behind a desk covered in reams of paper and cigarette ash. He gave a shrug and grudging half smile, then a questioning flick of the eyes towards Aziraphale. 

"Oh, where are my manners?" Crowley exclaimed. "This is a contemporary of mine, Admiral White Bread Waffleton, Esquir--" 

Aziraphale jumped in, clearly irritated. "Will you stop it!!?"

"Don’t mind him, he’s having an off day." Crowley grinned as the angel glared daggers at him. "Anyway, how’re the lads doing?" He lounged back in a moth-eaten and rather dusty seat, apparently heedless of any sense of self-preservation. Aziraphale considered the relative hygiene of the seating options present, and wisely opted to remain standing. He loomed intimidatingly instead. 

"Eh, not bad. You’ve hired worse. All accounting seems to be on the up-and-up. Not been siphoning anything off for their own pockets that I can tell. I set ‘em up with a few dummy test buyers of my own so I’d know they were reporting the numbers accurately. They’re pretty discreet, fairly canny on not calling attention to themselves on the job. They use a variety of vehicles - nondescript, all taxed and MOT’d so they’re not immediate glaring beacons to any coppers who spot ‘em driving around, and they drive sensibly, no excuses to get pulled over."

Scott leaned back in his creaky office chair and took a deep drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out on the desk. "All in all, they’re pretty good. Got promise, that lot. I’d give em another job."

Crowley nodded approvingly. "Good to hear. You heard anything about Big Man Joe up to anything recently? Anything that might put him on edge or more paranoid than usual?"

"Not that I’ve heard of, no."

"Right, well, we’ll leave you to it then, stay frosty." Crowley got to his feet and tipped a nod to Scott, then hoicked his head at Aziraphale to indicate the angel should follow him. "Ciao."

As they sauntered from the building, Aziraphale asked what they should do next.

"Well - let Mikey’s mob finish fencing the vodka, you finish getting to know the girls, I start scouting vehicles, two identical vans with almost identical number plates, so probably buy some ex-fleet ones at auction. Slap matching ‘distinguishing’ marks on both, like matching ‘clean me’ graffiti scrawled into the dirt on the back, a matching sticker or something. That way when one nips down a side road and the other one comes out, they’ll not notice a single digit different in the number plate as the more obvious identifiers will catch their attention and make them sure they’re still following the same van."

"And how will we get this van across the channel without the authorities seeing the women aboard?"

"We won’t. They’re only getting as far as Dover in the van, then they’ll be transferring to a different vehicle for the crossing, and another one again once we’re in France."

"It sounds awfully complicated."

"If you’d ever met Big Man Joe in person, you’d say it wasn’t complicated  _ enough _ , Angel. He’s not someone you want to mess with. You steal his property; he can pull out the kind of firepower that would make a navy warship look like a particularly aggressive ferry."

* * *

Aziraphale waved at the ladies in the salon with a cheery smile as he got into the Bentley again, glowing more than usual. Crowley pulled out into traffic almost before the door was closed properly, prompting Aziraphale to grab hold to steady himself, and shoot the demon an annoyed look. 

"Why the rush?"

"Gotta meet up with Mikey and the lads in half an hour. How’d today go anyway?"

"Oh, Lena and Sofia gave me the loveliest facial and hand massage. Sofia said my Polish seemed to be improving, which is nice to know."

_ "...Angel…" _

"Yes, yes, I’m getting to that. They’re not from the exact same area as the other ladies, but not too many miles away either. Sofia trained as an engineer and Lena was studying dermatology, they’re all such wonderfully intelligent young ladies, and none of them happy with the work they’re being coerced into doing. Still, getting them home shouldn’t be too bad, should it? With them not living too far away from the others?"

"Hopefully not. Make the job a bit easier anyway."

* * *

Mikey and the gang’s body language was a little more confident and not quite as terrified this time, and such complacency wouldn’t do at all, so Aziraphale made sure to glower even more than usual to ensure they remained suitably intimidated. Crowley lounged back on the sofa in the private back room of the pub, and eyed the motley crew. 

"All done so soon?"

"Yes boss," Mikey replied. He’d walked in feeling pretty confident, but Mr. Beige was  _ looking  _ at him again, in that really weird way he did, and it was making him feel distinctly uncomfortable. He hurriedly handed over a chunky envelope. "It’s all there, reported the accounting to Scott as we went…"

"So you did," Crowley remarked idly, leafing through the wad of notes. He nodded, and passed it to Aziraphale, who glanced at it, flicked his gaze up to meet Mikey’s eyes again, making the human flinch, and then pocketed it and took a drink in silence. 

"So…," Crowley began, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "... I think we are in agreement that you boys have earned the opportunity to work on something rather more substantial. Take a seat."

Mikey, Andrej, Callum, and Tom all sat down, apprehensive, but gratified that their hard work appeared to have been appreciated. 

"Parked round the back of the pub are two almost identical white Mercedes Sprinter vans with sequential number plates. I will give you the keys shortly. They have matching stickers and have even had a matching dent applied to each back door. There is matching graffiti inscribed in the dirt on the back door of both _ which you will not touch or wipe off _ . Understood?" 

"Yes, boss."

"Over the next twenty-four hours it is your responsibility to ensure that they remain looking identical. If some scrote draws more graffiti on one, you match it on the other. If someone dents one, you dent the other, got it?"

"Yes, boss."

"Callum, you’ll take van 1 with Mr Beige, Tom, you’ll take van 2. Andrej, you’re going ahead to Calais tonight, where you will find a third vehicle, a 3rd sprinter van instead set up properly as a minibus with blacked out windows. I’ll give you the GPS coordinates of its location and the key. You will be waiting there with it."

They nodded. 

"Mikey, you’ll be in the Bentley with me. We will be stealing five… ‘high value items’ …. which belong to somebody rather dangerous. We will load them in the back of van 1. Callum will drive van 1, and there’s a distinct possibility we will be followed. For this reason, you will be following a precise route, which will take you past Baker’s Lane, which you will turn into. You will see van 2 waiting there and go around it then straight into the open garage unit there. Van 2 will then move off, running a diversion for any pursuers to follow, believing that it is, in fact, van 1."

The gang grinned and nodded eagerly. 

"Van 1 will proceed to Dover, where you will rendezvous with another associate of mine, Jennifer. She will be driving a large red and white Scania R-series artic lorry, painted in the livery of ‘Southwell's International Horse Transport.’ You will transfer your cargo as instructed by Jennie, into the Scania. After that, it’s up to you to get as far away as possible and make your van disappear."

More nods from the gang.

"The value and delicacy of your cargo will become clear. I would hope that you understand that none of the cargo is to be harmed or damaged in any way whatsoever. If I find that anything untoward happens to any of the cargo, believe me when I say, your life will no longer be worth living."

More nods, a little hesitant this time as each of them tried to work out what the cargo might consist of, with the sharpest of them, Mikey, beginning to possibly hazard a guess.

"The previous owners of said items are not going to be keen to see them removed from their custody. They will have access to firearms, mostly of the sawn-off shotgun type. If any one of you allows any of the cargo to come into harm’s way to save his own sorry soul, then, again: your life will truly no longer be worth living, you can depend on it. And you will spend the rest of what little existence remains to you being extremely aware of that fact, and incredibly regretful of not keeping it in mind."

More slow, and very serious nods. 

"If any of you want to back out, let me know now. As a counterpoint, the value of the work you are about to undertake is going to net  _ each  _ of you three times what you all just  _ collectively  _ made in total on the last job."

Crowley leaned back again. 

"So, if you’re out, leave now."

No one left.

"Good. In the vans are a couple of bags with burner phones, pre-programmed sat navs and appropriate paperwork and instructions you may need. Spend tonight getting thoroughly acquainted with it all. Rendezvous at the Black Swan pub on Newgate Street tomorrow night at 9:15pm."


	6. Big Joe ain’t happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get underway. Aziraphale explains the plan to the ladies at the salon, and the plan starts rolling. Big Joe and his goons give chase, and the mob boss severely underestimates Crowley. The ladies find out Crowley's sneaky plan to smuggle them back across the channel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW for minor character death (bad guy), blood, bit of gore.**

Aziraphale stepped into the salon with a slightly different air about him today, and walked straight up to Kasia. He snapped his fingers discreetly and looked her straight in the eyes. 

"Hello Kasia. You need to drive down to Salon Services to buy some equipment or supplies. You will be gone for at least an hour."

She nodded obediently, picked up her handbag and barked an order at Ewa, then left. Aziraphale locked the door behind her. He had booked up every appointment for that afternoon under a few assumed names, so he was the only client in there. The nail techs looked up in alarm as they heard the door lock, wondering what was going on. Aziraphale turned and smiled at them, a genuine, warm angelic smile. 

"Nie bój się" he reassured them. "Be not afraid," and allowed just a glimmer of reassuring angelic energy to escape his aura. "Now we’re going to take a tea break and have a chat. You’re going home, and I’m going to help." 

* * *

Several hours had elapsed and night had fallen. Sofia opened the back door of the crowded flat and ushered the other girls out into the back yard, where Aziraphale stood by the gate. Magdalena took him aside. 

"We can’t leave Maria and Joanna behind, is there space?"

"Yes of course, my dear. I do apologise; I didn’t think to ask about the other girls in the house with you. Are there any more who we should take?" 

"No, I don’t think so. I did ask some others I thought should escape, but they were too frightened. Kasia and Dmitri said they’d hurt our families if we ran away. I told the girls not to be afraid, that you would keep us and them safe, but they’re too scared."

"Alright, well, get in the van, it might be uncomfortable for a little while, but we’ll keep you safe. Then I’ll see what we can do about rescuing the others later."

Callum glanced in the rear view mirror, eyes widening at the nature of his cargo. Mikey stood next to the Bentley a few feet away and exchanged a glance and a shrug with him. Aziraphale closed the van doors and hopped into the cab next to Callum.

"Right, let’s go. Cr… Mr. Red and Mikey will be tailing us to provide a rear-guard in the Bentley."

"Should I step on it?"

"Goodness gracious _no!_ We’ve got seven humans in the back…" he caught Callum’s confused look at his choice of words and hastily amended it. "Seven _other_ humans in the back, and we don’t want to harm a single hair on their heads. Nor do we want to draw undue attention. It’s only a matter of time before someone notices that they’re missing, so keep your eyes peeled."

"Besides," Aziraphale continued, "we need to drive carefully so as not to draw undue attention either, from the law, or… well, the person who is apt to be rather annoyed that we just smuggled some of his workforce out from under his nose."

They’d gone about a mile when Aziraphale spotted the black Mercedes G-wagen pulling out of a side road ahead of them in a hurry. "Callum…" he warned, nodding at it. The human nodded in understanding and eased off the accelerator to await further instruction. The Bentley barrelled past them and surged ahead towards the G-wagen. "Next left," Aziraphale instructed curtly, and they left Crowley to deal with Big Joe. 

* * *

The G-wagen screeched to a halt across the road, blocking the way. Crowley glanced at Mikey. "Stay in the car, this might get ugly. Try not to panic." He stopped the Bentley and got out. Big Joe stepped out of his car and levelled a sawn-off shotgun at the demon with a snarl. 

"You stole something of mine, you flash bastard," he growled.

"Joe! What a pleasant surprise! Long-time no see, how’s things?"

"Fuck you, Antonio. Kasia told me she saw that bloody Bentley of yours after the girls got stolen. Don’t think you’re getting away with stealing from me, you piece of shit, my guys are on that damn van’s tail."

"Good for them," Crowley smiled, "Modern slavery doesn’t suit you, Joe. Just doing a bit of relocation, no hard feelings."

The first barrel emptied somewhere near Crowley’s left hip, shredding the corner of his jacket. He paused, and looked down at it, lifting the scraps of trailing material in one hand with a mildly annoyed look. 

"Oi, I liked this jacket, you bastard. I’ll be sending the tailor’s bill to you, you realise?"

"I _meant_ to shoot your bollocks off," growled Joe. 

"Luck of the devil, eh? Must have been a miracle. Now I’m gonna give you till the count of three to get in your daft Chelsea tractor and fuck off."

Joe emptied the other barrel. There was a sharp smattering of pinging noises as the lead shot ricocheted off the Bentley’s front wing. 

Crowley turned slowly to look at his car, hands on his hips. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, took a step towards it, removed his shades, and bent over to inspect the peppering of damage to the paintwork. He picked at a fleck of black lacquer. He tucked his shades in his top jacket pocket, and turned on his heel, glacially slow, to face Joe again. 

Crowley’s amber eyes glittered in the dark. 

Joe fumbled for new shotgun cartridges in his pocket, panic slowly rising. 

"Now the jacket - I can forgive the jacket. I can replace the jacket. No big deal," Crowley stated, sauntering casually across the short patch of tarmac that lay between him and the shotgun wielding human. "Fashions come, fashions go, I can pop down Marc Jacobs and get something fresh, but…" Crowley’s saunter morphed into a predatory stalk and his fangs began to lengthen as he got closer.

"You. Don’t. Ever. EVER…," he was now feet away from Joe, "...EVER touch my car."

Joe’s fumbling fingers thumbed another pair of shells into his 12 bore over & under, and this time he let off both barrels at once. 

He looked up. 

And up.

And up.

Nearly fifteen feet of gleaming red and black scales towered above him, the remaining two thirds of Crowley’s body coiled out on the tarmac behind him. 

Joe dropped the empty shotgun, and the contents of his bladder and bowels while he was at it, to save time. 

Crowley wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in swallowing the human alive, especially after that particular loss of bodily control, so instead he whipped his coils tight around the mob boss and began to squeeze. 

Fingernails clawed desperately at his scales, until another loop of coils snared Joe’s arms and pinned them tight. Another muscular flex, and the cracking and crunching noises began as bones started to fracture. Joe couldn’t draw breath, his fractured ribs piercing his lungs made bloody froth fill his mouth and nose, but still Crowley squeezed him tighter, grinding the criminal to a bloody pulp.

He dropped what was left of the body, and used the bulk of his demonic serpentine form to shove the heavy 4x4 to the side of the road, where it bounced off a parked mini, smashing the pair of them. He eased back into his human form as he slithered back toward the Bentley again. He paused by the front wing and laid his hand on it. One stroke, and the damage was undone. He patted her gently. "Sorry, girl," he murmured. 

He slid back into the driver’s seat again, and finally noticed Mikey. 

"You ok?"

"Yh…. snnnn…. mnnnhhh… uuufffff…. Youuuuu… Iiiiiiiii, you….. Wh…"

"‘Sup? Never seen a giant demonic serpent before? Oh yeah, you probably haven’t." Crowley snapped his fingers in front of Mikey’s terrified face. "Well _now_ you haven’t." 

"...you’re shot…" Mikey finally managed. 

"Probably." Crowley put the Bentley into first, mashed the accelerator, dumped the clutch, and took off in a squeal of tyre smoke. "Bastard ruined my jacket." 

* * *

Callum turned into Baker’s Lane and spied Tom parked up in van 2 waiting for them. He swerved around it and in through the open roll top garage door of an empty unit. The door rattled swiftly closed behind them, thanks to Aziraphale’s discreet snap, that Callum simply assumed was a remote control. He heard Tom drive the other Sprinter van out the other end of the alley. Callum sat back to wait while Aziraphale went to check on the girls in the back. 

A minute or so later, they heard screeching tyres as a couple of other vehicles swerved down the alley outside, and, by the sounds of it, off after Tom’s van, then silence again. Callum jumped as Aziraphale climbed back in the cab again. "Everyone’s alright back there," he commented. 

They waited a little while longer, and then the distinctive engine note of Crowley’s Bentley pulled up outside. The garage door rolled upwards again, and Aziraphale indicated that Callum should reverse out and carry on.

The van headed out, sticking to B roads where possible to avoid motorways and the more obvious routes, until they arrived at Dover, and made their way to a farm a couple of miles from the ferry port. The red and white Scania R plastered in the livery of "Southwell’s International Horse Transport" was parked in the yard. They parked up the van while Crowley parked up the Bentley next to them, and stepped out. 

A tall, efficient looking middle-aged woman dressed in jodhpurs, wellies, and a warm fleece stepped out from the tack room by some stables and nodded to Crowley. Aziraphale opened the back doors of the van and helped the girls out, leading them to the tack room for a sit down and a cup of tea while Crowley chatted with Jennifer, Callum and Mikey about logistics. 

After a little while, Jennifer came to fetch Aziraphale. "Mr. Red wants to talk to you."

In the garish yellow lights of the otherwise dark stable yard, Aziraphale nonetheless noticed Crowley’s torn jacket and dark staining around his hip, and gave him a mildly alarmed questioning look. Crowley shook his head dismissively. 

"Right, Jennie’s gonna help the girls to get in position. We’re loading two mares in first, they’ll be at the very front of the lorry right up against the living quarters jockey door, then a special full height partition goes in, polished metal like a mirror, so in the dark at a glance looking in from the jockey door, they’ll be mirrored and look like another couple of horses standing next to them." Crowley pointed up the ramp of the lorry 

"Then the girls will go into the next division, there’s cushions in there, some drinks and snacks, then another full height mirrored partition, then we’ll have three more horses - a gelding and two stallions, then close up the ramp."

Jennie grinned and explained. "I’m putting Flossie in first, closest to the jockey door. Anyone opens that up that she doesn’t know, and tries to look closer, she’ll pin her ears back at them and put on her best chestnut mare face. If they don’t take the hint, she’s not above biting or kicking. No one will want to get too close. Then chill mare Rosie, then the partition and the girls and another partition."

She continued. "Chill gelding Edgar goes in next - so we have pretty quiet horses directly next to the false partitions that won’t be apt to kick it much. Then we’ve got moderately chill stallion DeSouza, and then BastardFace, otherwise known as Kalvados Z, another stallion, but an absolute shithead. Anyone opening the back ramp is going to get squealed at until their eardrums bleed, and possibly chunks taken out of them. He’s a bastard when he can smell the mares nearby and no one will be getting in from that end either."

Crowley chuckled quietly. "Anyone looking in from either end will glimpse a line of stomping legs and horses, dimly lit in the middle, and will be too distracted wanting to avoid getting bitten or kicked to try to get to look any further." He nodded to the horsebox. "Aziraphale, you travel with Jennie in case any mira… any persuasion is needed anywhere, I’ll be going ahead separately with the Bentley and will meet up with you on the ferry."

"Right, let’s get started then. I’ll go get the moody mare," Jennie announced. "I’d suggest you get your girls to make a bathroom trip before we set off. I’ve stuck a little camping toilet in there for them in case of emergencies, but they’ll probably be more comfortable using the toilet behind the tack room." With that she marched off to get the first horse. Crowley made himself scarce so as not to annoy the horses too much with his proximity. They didn’t care much for demons. 

Flossie, a 16.2hh chestnut mare, was led from her stable wrapped up in travel boots to protect her legs, and a fleece cooler rug, and stomped her way up the ramp, tearing into her haynet tied up in the horsebox and settling in to a good bit of munching while Jennie fetched Rosie. All the horses were the same colour and similar heights, with identical matching travel boots and rugs, to help confuse the illusion with the mirrored panels in the centre of the lorry that concealed the hidden compartment. It was dark in there, and the regular height panels were of a similar construction to the full height one, so that it was almost impossible to tell the difference once everything was in place. 

Next Sofia, Lena, Agata, Ewa, Magdalena, and the two extra girls, Joanna and Maria, walked up the ramp and took their seat in the hidden compartment, and were sealed in. Afterwards, Edgar the gelding stepped smartly up the ramp, eager to see what exciting adventure he might be off on, followed by DeSouza, then his brother, Kalvados. Fortunately, the two were turned out together, stabled together, and got on well. Kalvados began whinnying as soon as he smelled the mares nearby in the lorry, and set up with an impatient stomping, occasionally kicking the back wall of the lorry in his impatience. Jennie finally closed the back ramp, and invited Aziraphale to hop up into the cab with her, waving at Crowley as the huge lorry started up and rumbled out onto the lane. 


	7. Precious cargo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are tense as the lorry goes through customs. Once across the channel in France, they rendezvous with Andrej to transfer the women into a more suitable vehicle for the treck across Europe, but things don't go entirely to plan...

At the ferry port, customs went around the lorry with a torch. The checks were fairly cursory, as few people tried to smuggle things _out_ of the UK, so far more resources were dedicated to checking vehicles coming _in_. 

A happy, bouncy little springer spaniel with a sniffer dog vest was led up to the lorry to go around and underneath, tail wagging non-stop in her enthusiasm. Aziraphale guessed she was probably a drug sniffing dog, but on the off chance she was also trained to sniff out humans, he did a discreet miracle to ensure that she didn’t notice anything unusual. 

In the lorry, the horses stomped impatiently. A customs agent opened the side door to the living quarters and pulled out the steps to reach the small jockey door between the living quarters and the horse area. Flossie snorted, then pinned her ears back and aimed a bite at the stranger, making him jump back in alarm and shut the door again hastily, and carried on searching the small living area instead. 

Another agent asked Jennie to drop the ramp. She gave him a sceptical look. "Kalvados is gonna go spare," she warned. "Got a stallion in there who thinks he’s on his way to cover some mares, the first thing he’s expecting to see when that ramp comes down are some ladies for him to jump on, so… well, prepare to get your ears screamed off, because he likes to make a racket."

She undid the crossbar and lowered the ramp. Kalvados’s ears pricked up and the stallion poked his head out over the gates at the back, then proceeded to scream loudly, searching for the mares he expected should be waiting for him. The scent of the two in the lorry on the other side of the partition was already confusing him. 

The customs agent stepped up on the ramp, and the stallion pinned his ears back and threatened to bite. The agent knelt down and peered down along the floor, seeing only a mass of wrapped chestnut legs stomping in impatience. He didn’t dare go any closer, so stepped off the ramp and nodded at Jennie to put it up again. 

Jennie double-checked all the doors and latches were secure, yelled at Kalvados to shut the fuck up and stop being a big pansy, then climbed back up into the cab again and fired up the 16 litre V8 turbodiesel engine. They were rolling, and directed to a queue waiting to be loaded onto the ferry across the channel. It may be slower than the channel tunnel, but was the less-anticipated route and probably marginally safer. 

* * *

The crossing went smoothly, but Crowley wasn’t foolish enough to relax too soon. Joe’s gang had been following the decoy van and might be smart enough to work out that they were trying to get the girls back across the channel again. Tom had called to say he’d managed to lose them and ditch the van. He’d torched it, then made himself scarce. 

Andrej was waiting on the other side with the minibus van for them. Once they’d unloaded the girls, Jennie was going to hang out with the horses for a day or so under the guise of having taken them to a competition, then drive them back. 

Aziraphale stood next to Crowley on the deck, gazing out at the waves on the dark sea far below. 

"Are you hurt?" Aziraphale was worried.

"He got me, yeah. Just a bit of birdshot, bloody amateur, nothing bad, just a few pellets got me, can pick ‘em out later, looks worse than it is. My coat took the worst of it."

"You dealt with him?"

Crowley nodded. "He’s pâté."

Aziraphale pulled a face.

"... How?"

"Constricted him into a puddle of goo. He shot the Bentley. I overreacted a bit."

"He shot her?"

"I miracled the damage out again, but he hurt her, I kind of saw red. She’ll remember that even if you can’t see it."

"You can’t miracle your corporation’s damage out as well then?"

"Nngh, never got the knack of that, tends to bounce off again. I’ll be fine."

The ship’s PA system announced in French and English that all drivers should make their way to the vehicle decks and prepare for docking. Angel and demon sauntered towards the lifts. 

"Stay vigilant, Angel. It’s gone too smoothly so far; I’ll not be happy till we get to Orchówek."

 _"‘Too smoothly’?_ Crowley you got _shot!"_

Crowley shrugged. "Had worse. Anyway, stay alert. Jennie’s sharp and good in a tight spot, she’s ex-Blues and Royals regiment, but she’s still human, so I’m relying on you to keep her in one piece as well. Oh, and if anything happens to her horses, you want to watch out for her as well as she’ll tan your hide."

They met up with Jennie and Mikey at the cargo decks and went to their separate vehicles, ready to disembark. 

* * *

Crowley texted Sofia to let her know they were docking and would be moving again shortly, as there was no way to get to the girls without unloading the horses first, which was part of what made their position so secure. The ferry docked at Calais and they began to disembark. 

They had a few miles to go to meet up with Andrej and the third van that should take them North up to the Belgian border, then heading out Eastwards across Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany before reaching the West side of Poland, and then spanning the entire country before they reached Orchówek with a Southward diversion to Lublin and Krasnystaw to drop off two of the other girls. 

But first they had to find Andrej. 

They pulled into a large, dark, empty supermarket car park and finally spotted the white van parked in the far corner. Jennie parked the lorry next to it, and hopped out of the cab, just as Crowley pulled in on the other side in the Bentley. 

"Right, I’ll get the boys out," Jennie declared, "then we can get that partition out and let those poor lasses get some fresh air at last." She undid the catches on the ramp and lowered it down. Kalvados had started snorting and stomping as soon as the lorry stopped, and the moment the ramp dropped, he began whinnying in a piercingly loud voice, trumpeting out to any mares who might be nearby. 

"Oh stop it, you daft lump," Jennie chided him, tapping his nose as she unhooked the side gates and set them in place. "Right, stand back folks, he’s still pretty lively…" She untied his lead rope from inside the lorry and led him down the ramp, her right elbow pressed to his shoulder to help keep him straight and stop him from tanking off. 

Kalvados snorted his way down the ramp and jumped off the end, then pranced about at the end of his lead rope. Jennie glanced at Mikey. "Hey, you - hop in the lorry and untie the haynet in there, just pull the trailing end, it’s a quick release knot and it’ll come undone with one pull - I need to tie it up to a ring on the far side of the outside of the lorry for him to munch on while we unload the other two." Mikey looked scared, eyeing up the other stallion, DeSouza, who stood calmly in the next space, scared to approach the horse. 

"Oh for goodness sake, I knew this’d be a pain in the arse. Red, you told me not to bring a groom - I’ve got 5 bloody horses to deal with on my own and you already told me they’d hate you. The dude you’ve brought with you is as much use as a chocolate teapot, I need more hands here!"

"I’ll do it," Aziraphale stated, and stepped up the ramp. "I haven’t had to deal with horses for a long time but at least they like me and I know how to tie a quick release knot." He deftly pulled the haynet down, while DeSouza nosed him inquisitively and huffed in the angel’s ear. He then brought the net down and tied it to a ring on the side of the lorry, so that Jennie could tie Kalvados up to munch on it to keep him occupied. Aziraphale patted the angsty stallion’s neck and pushed forth a soothing miracle to calm him down in the process. Kalvados took a big sigh, visibly relaxed, and tucked into the hay contentedly. 

Jennie eyed Aziraphale approvingly. "Well at least one of you has got some sense. Right, I’ll get DeSouza out and tie him up next to his brother - are you happy bringing Edgar down? He’s a big daft puppy at heart, he’ll be no trouble at all." Aziraphale nodded while Crowley looked around nervously. 

Something was niggling at Crowley’s senses, he was on edge, but knew he had to keep clear of the horsebox or his demonic energy would wind the horses up more. They’d been great cover for the girls, but were a problem all in themselves. There was a thudding as Jennie led DeSouza down the ramp and tied him up, then Aziraphale was bringing Edgar down when Crowley heard it over the banging… car engines, more than one, and far too fast. 

He looked around, trying to pinpoint the direction, then caught a flicker of movement and a faint glimmer of dim moonlight reflecting off dark paintwork. The bastards had hidden the cars behind the closed shopping centre, and were driving round with no lights on to take them by surprise. 

"What're they playing at?" asked Mikey. 

"I don't know," said Crowley, "but I think it's called silly buggers." His tone suggested that he could play, too. And do it better.

"INCOMING!" Crowley yelled. "Angel! Protect the girls, Mikey, with me! Andrej: stand by the van!" He saw Jennie climb up into the cab and jump down again wielding a length of wood with a loop of chain on one end. "What the fuck is that?"

"Chain twitch. Old fashioned horse restraint, personally I don’t use ‘em on horses much any more, but handy thing to have in the cab for self-defence," she winked at him, then reached in her pocket and pulled out a short curved hoof trimming knife with a wickedly sharp blade. "These can be handy too."

Aziraphale ran up the ramp and tugged at the pins holding the mirrored divider in place so that the girls would be able to get out in a hurry if need be, but motioned at them to stay put for the moment. 

* * *

Four black BMWs pulled up in a semicircle around the van, horsebox, and Bentley. Crowley rolled his shoulders and waited to see what would happen. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t want to risk hurting the girls either.

The doors opened and several guys stepped out, all of them armed in one way or another - some with baseball bats, some with machetes, and there was at least one other sawn-off shotgun which Crowley made a mental note to get rid of somehow as a priority. But first, he opened his arms wide, smiled wider and greeted the burliest henchman. 

"Angus! How you been, my man? Haven’t worked with you in a while, what brings you here?"

Angus, 6’6", skinhead and more tattoo than face, scowled at him. 

"You stole Big Joe’s property, Antonio. Big Joe was _not_ happy."

Crowley nodded. "Yeah, I’d say he wasn’t particularly jovial last time I saw him. A bit more on the dead side, if you ask me."

Apparently the news wasn’t new to Angus who simply nodded. "What was his, is now mine - including that lot. My gang now. Everyone knew it’d be me after Joe was gone. If you weren’t such a cunt, I’d thank you for getting rid of ‘im for me. But you are, so I won’t."

Crowley was doing some rapid mental arithmetic - each of the four cars had at least three or four people in it - driver and two or more goons. He recognised Angus, Dmitri, and Jimmy from working with them before, but the rest were just more anonymous, and rather vicious looking faces. Angus was gloating.

"Bet you forgot to think to take the girls’ phones off ‘em didn’t ya? Nice little tracking app we put on ‘em in case they decided to do a runner, handy for seeing where you ran off to with ‘em."

Angus stepped toward Crowley, machete in hand, with Dmitri approaching slightly to one side, wielding the shotgun. Mikey, standing slightly behind Crowley and to the left, slid a flick knife blade from his sleeve, eyes darting about nervously, but waiting to take his cue from Crowley. Andrej discreetly reached back through the open door of the van to bring out a wheel brace and weighed it in his hand experimentally.

Dmitri swung suddenly towards the horse lorry where Jennie was standing next to the horses on the far side, to see Aziraphale stepping slowly down the ramp, stony-faced. 

"Who’s this twat?"

Crowley beamed and held his arm out towards Aziraphale to present him. "Oh, pardon my manners. Gentlemen, this is my esteemed colleague, Mr…"

"Mr. Cambric T. Capone." Aziraphale interrupted, with a smug smirk at the demon. 

Crowley gaped for a moment, stifled the urge to laugh, shut his mouth, politely turned to face the henchman, and nodded once. "Yep. That’s it."

"So what can I do for you?" Crowley asked, still retaining his relaxed body language as he let the two get closer, mentally calculating distances as they did. 

"You’re gonna hand over those girls."

"Hm. Well, y’see, I have a counter-offer." Crowley put his finger to his lips as if thinking, and sauntered in a small circle. "How about…," he sauntered slightly closer to Dmitri, then paused to address Angus. "How about … no." In the blink of an eye, his snake-fast reflexes allowed the demon to spin about and grab the shotgun, rolling aside in one smooth movement clutching it to his chest. 

As Dmitri made to tackle him, Crowley broke open the gun at the jointing and cleared both barrels of their cartridges before flinging it aside far behind him. Now the playing field was a little more even. He rolled just as smoothly back onto his feet, and brushed his jacket down as if he had merely taken a mild tumble. 

"Well, now that unpleasantness is out of the way, what next?" He smiled wide, allowing his fangs to lengthen a little for the extra intimidation factor. Dmitri had brought out a large knife and stepped behind him, pressing the blade to Crowley’s back, making him freeze. Angus carried on talking.

"...And _then_ you’re gonna apologise, and _then_ you’re gonna get acquainted with _this…"_ He held up the machete between them. "Very _very_ slowly." The rest of the henchmen tightened the circle.

"Oh, big words, what are you gonna do? Stab me?" Crowley snarked. 

"...Yes."

It all got a bit chaotic at that point. 


	8. Get Smiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get violent as our crew goes up against Big Joe's old gang, now headed by Angus. The women are not about to stand by while the men do all the fighting, and give as good as they get. Our ineffables get down to some smiting and biting, then need to answer some questions from the humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW for blood, violence, injuries and bad guy deaths.**

Agata and Ewa flinched as lightning flashed outside and the screams started. Lena stood up. "That’s it, we’re helping." She fished in her bag for some of the items she’d grabbed from the salon before they’d left, and passed some around. Sofia grinned widely.

"Oh, good idea, it’ll be like that time Kasia rested her elbow on the puddle on the desk and had to go to the burns unit! Lena, you’re evil!" She grinned and removed the cap from the small bottle. Some of the other girls were handed wickedly sharp looking instruments, barbicide-fresh. 

Magdalena shoved at the part-open partition and they stepped out to a scene of carnage. Jennie was beating a henchman over the head with a heavy metal chain loop attached to a hefty wooden bar. Mikey was stabbing at another with a flick knife. Mr. Beige was…

… Was  _ glowing _ . And crackling with lightning around his body. It was arcing out and striking the men around him, knocking them back and to the ground.

Mr. Red was biting someone’s leg while rolling around on the ground, one hand clutched to his side. The person he was biting was screaming in agony and what could be seen of his leg where his trouser was rucked up appeared to be turning purple. 

A henchman that Maria was familiar with spotted the girls and made to run up the ramp towards them, but Sofia threw the contents of the open bottle of acid nail primer in his face, burning his skin and eyes instantly, while Ewa stabbed him with a double-handed cuticle knife*. Joanna and Lena led the charge down the ramp to pile onto the other henchmen fighting their rescuers. 

Crowley let go of Angus’s leg, letting his venom finish the job, and launched at Dmitri who was grappling with Mikey, sinking his fangs into his shoulder and dumping demonic venom into him too. Dmitri let out a strangled scream and let go of Mikey, and there was another flash of light as Aziraphale smote one Crowley recognised as Jimmy. 

Joanna rushed to help Andrej, armed with another bottle of acid nail primer, kicked the legs out from under his assailant from behind, and poured the bottle over him.

Jennie had another in a headlock using the handle of the twitch across his throat, but was being thrown around badly. Aziraphale couldn’t smite the guy while another human was clinging to him, so instead Agata ran forwards to stab him in the crotch with a pair of razor-sharp cuticle nippers. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it didn’t need to be to make the mobster fall to his knees. Once he was down, Jennie bashed him over the head with the handle of the twitch to make sure he didn’t try to get up again. 

For all the chaos, it was over pretty quickly, but angel and demon were quickly surrounded by a circle of confused humans as Mikey, Jennie, and the girls stared at them with questioning faces as to what the hell had just happened. 

Aziraphale caught their expressions and coughed politely, allowing his aura to settle down and go from a fierce blue glow to a gentle gold shimmer, and then out.

"Yes, well… thank heavens that’s all over and done with," he said awkwardly. 

Crowley laughed, then tripped over. "Ow. Fuck." He sat up and peered at his hand. "This mine, or theirs?" He asked, inspecting the blood, then looked down. "Oh come  _ on, _ this had better be paint. Fucks’ sake."

Aziraphale was instantly on his knees next to the demon, checking him over. "Oh you foolish thing, he got you, didn’t he?"

Ewa knelt down next to him as well and began moving Crowley’s jacket away from the area, slapping his hand away when he tried to resist, and scolded him. "I’m not a doctor, but I was a dentist, you let me look!" Lena, the dermatologist, joined her to assist. 

"What happened to Mr. Red, he’s been stabbed?" Lena asked Aziraphale

"Of course he was. Inevitable really, after what he said."

"What did he say?"

Aziraphale translated Crowley’s sarcasm into Polish. 

"Och, wielkie słowa! Co zamierzasz zrobić, dźgnąć mnie?"

Crowley gave a wheezing giggle and Lena gave him a sharp look, pulling up his shirt. 

Jennie passed down the first aid kit from the horsebox and went to settle down the horses, then put the partitions back and re-loaded Edgar and the stallions. Mikey and Andrej took the initiative and began lugging bodies into BMWs. One whimpered a bit and got a swift kick that shut him up again. 

Lena began removing items from the first aid kit and passing them to Ewa, who set about cleaning up the wound. Aziraphale, of course, fretted.

"Oh, Crowley, you silly serpent, look at the state of you!"

"It’s just a flesh wound, I’ll walk it off."

"Crowley, it’s a deep incision."

"No, it isn’t."

"You can barely stand."

"I’ll slither it off, then."

"Why didn’t you take your serpent form to fight?"

"Dint want to scare the girls, or the horses. I’d never hear the last of it from Jennie. She’d probably turn me into a pair of snakeskin riding boots or a saddle or something. OW!" He glared at Ewa, who was finishing cleaning the wound. She grabbed some steri-strips to help hold the incision closed, while Lena ripped open a dressing package. Crowley grumbled as he was bound up.

"Been shot, stabbed, what next? Nuked from orbit?"

"Crowley! Don’t tempt fate!"

"Why not? Original tempter, that’s me. Betcha if anyone can do it, I can."

"Please don’t."

"Can’t believe I got stabbed by that absolute spunktrumpet, or shot by that complete and utter wankpuffin."

"Well,  _ do  _ try to be more careful, Crowley."

"Quit worrying, you fussy featherbrain. I’ll be fine."

Ewa finished patching him up and knelt back on her heels. "So are you going to tell us what all that was about?" she pinned Crowley and Aziraphale with a piercing look. Mikey and Andrej had finished dragging incapacitated or deceased mobsters out of the way, and joined in. Having loaded the horses again, Jennie joined the circle of questioning humans. 

"Well…" Crowley’s silver tongue appeared to have done a runner, he flailed vaguely, emitting a string of confused consonants. Aziraphale stepped in.

"I suppose you might call us, well… I suppose me, at least; a guardian angel of sorts."

"And him?" Magdalena demanded, indicating Crowley.

"He does his best," Aziraphale deflected. 

"Like… an  _ actual  _ angel?" Andrej was trying to get his head around things.

Aziraphale nodded. Jennie cast a sceptical nod at Crowley. "But him?"

"Well…," Crowley hedged. "Same species, different political party." He tried a winning smile.

Jennie shrugged. "Well, I suppose you’ve never done me wrong. You learn something new every day. But if you’re all done here, I need to get this lot to our stabling for the night, so gonna love ya and leave ya."

"Right, right…" Crowley got unsteadily to his feet and fished in his jacket pocket for a miraculously manifested envelope of used notes, which he handed over to her. "I’ve already paid the stables for you in advance, thanks again anyway."

Jennie took the envelope and counted the cash out carefully, then gave him a cheery nod and headed back to the lorry. "Nice working with ya."

Crowley looked around the remaining assembled humans. "Anyone else got any objection to continuing on with an angel and a demon, speak up now, otherwise - get in the van."

Mikey and Andrej exchanged a look. They’d found the partnership to be fairly profitable thus far, and considering the risks, had managed not to come to much harm. Plus, it appeared that they were actually performing a rescue rather than an abduction, under the guidance of a literal angel. They pondered the consequences, then shrugged. 

The girls exchanged glances as well. Suddenly Mr. Beige’s reassuring presence all along made more sense, although they weren’t sure what to think of Mr. Red, but he had been injured protecting them. They shrugged and nodded as well. 

"Right, that’s settled then," Aziraphale nodded. Crowley clapped his hands together.

"Andrej and Mikey, you two will be in the van, taking turns driving. Andrej, you’re better rested so you take the first shift, Mikey, you take a nap for a few hours across the front row of seats, then swap over when Andrej gets tired - we’re not stopping other than for bathroom breaks and to collect food and drink for you all on the way. We have over one and a half thousand kilometres to go, so driving around the clock we’ll get there faster."

"So are you and Mr. Beige going to take turns driving the Bentley?" Mikey asked. 

Crowley snorted in derision. "Not a bloody chance. I’ll be fine. No one drives the Bentley but me. And we don’t need sleep."

The girls clambered into the minibus van, followed by Andrej, while Mikey got his head down for a nap through what was left of the night. Crowley and Aziraphale got into the Bentley. 

Crowley sat back into the leather seat with a slight wince, and drew a deep breath. 

Aziraphale shot him a concerned look.

"Seriously, Crowley, are you sure you’re quite alright?"

"Don’t fuss, I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse. I was the Black Knight remember? This is just a flesh wound. Now let’s get going."

He pulled out after the van as a rear-guard. 

"So do you suppose that we’ve taken all of the gang out of action then?" Aziraphale was fretting again. 

"Well, all the UK contingent that matters, I’d say. But they’ve likely got a local fixer, or a partner gang in the local area, that they’ll be using as leverage, so it’ll help if we can root those out as well to eliminate that threat to the girls and their families."

"Leverage?"

"Yeah, They’ll have told the girls if they run away, that their families will be targeted. You must have used some pretty strong angelic persuasion on them to get them to trust you so much that they agreed to go along with our plan despite that."

"Do you suppose that Joe will have told his local contacts about the escape before you dealt with him?"

"Well he had enough wits to tell his local crew to chase after us and have them follow the girls’ phone trackers across the channel. I’m guessing they saw the direction we were headed and took the Eurotunnel to overtake us while we were on the ferry. Maybe had a local fixer too, as otherwise I’ve no clue how they got hold of that sawn-off shotgun, they can’t have got it through the customs checks."

"So how do we find the local contacts and neutralise them?"

"I’m hoping they’ll come out of the woodwork on their own, then we get smiting. At least now the girls know what we are."

"I hope you’re right, Crowley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *There's no such thing as a double handed cuticle knife, but it’s a Pratchett reference ;) I wanted to pay homage to "Conina" in the Discworld book "Sourcery" - she's the daughter of Conan the Barbarian, and is also a talented fighter, except that she *wants* to be a hairdresser. Her sharp reflexes and ability to put a stiletto blade through a man's eye at 10 paces means she's not really suited to being around people with bladed implements in a non-fighting setting.


	9. Bait the trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road, the humans have more questions for the ineffables to answer. They try to work out a plan of action to keep the women safe after they've got home, as there's still one more gang left to deal with yet. Lena's family turn out to be just as tough as she is. They manage to get a gangster for questioning, so it's time for Aziraphale and Crowley to drag some answers out of him.

They stopped just past Venlo in the Netherlands for their first rest break for the girls, bought them breakfast, then pressed on. Exhausted, most of them fell asleep in the minibus van. Mikey carried on napping, planning to take over from Andrej later in the morning. Joanna and Sofia offered to do a stint at the wheel as well, to give the guys a longer rest to recover from the stress of the night’s activities. 

At the next stop, they sat around a table at a motorway services near Magdeburg in Germany. Something had been weighing on Mikey’s mind. 

"So why’d you recruit us to break the law and do all that vodka bollocks just to get us to do a rescue mission? In fact, why’d you need us at all?"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look, as Aziraphale chewed thoughtfully, then speared a carrot with his fork. He nodded at Crowley and swallowed. "Why don’t you explain, dear?"

"Nnnnnggghhhhyyyyeeeeeaaahhhh…." Crowley pulled an awkward face and spun his coffee cup around distractedly. He looked up at Mikey and Andrej. 

"Look, ‘m a demon, right? Gotta do bad things, have to follow orders. Orders were to make you do bad stuff, specifically, human trafficking. Nudge you a bit more towards hell."

Andrej crossed himself nervously. Crowley pulled a face.

"Awww, don’t do that, that’s just rude. Anyway, I’m not big on the whole ‘human slavery’ aspect of things, seems kind of a backwards step for humanity if you ask me, so I decided to have you do it in reverse. You’re still technically doing what Hell wanted me to make you do, you’re just not enslaving people in the process. You stole innocent humans and transported them surreptitiously. I just made you do it in reverse. From B back to A instead of A to B."

"And what does that mean for our souls?" Andrej asked.

"Not my department," Crowley shrugged. "Technically you’ve both done what hell wanted _and_ not done what they intended, so your guess is as good as mine - I don’t make policy decisions, I just do the tempting. Then again, heaven’s not all it’s cracked up to be, even _he’ll_ tell you that." He nodded at Aziraphale, who looked conflicted and declined to comment. 

"Some might say that hell is less stuck up and more fun than up there, or maybe the atheists have got it right. Maybe you just go wherever you feel like you should. Not for me to say. But frankly I’m not up for theological discussion right now. The pair of us have talked in circles about it for literally millennia and got nowhere, so I doubt you’re going to get any further. Just enjoy what you’ve got and try not to worry about it I guess."

Aziraphale looked mildly disapproving at Crowley suggesting atheism, but the demon was right, they’d talked around it for thousands of years and never got anywhere. 

"But…," interjected Magdalena, "... if you are an angel and a demon, then you are proof that God exists, therefore we cannot be atheists, because you are here before us."

"Try not to think too hard about it," Crowley suggested. "Seriously, or you’ll just have an existential crisis and we’ll have to wipe your memories. _Again,_ in your case, Mikey."

 _"Me?"_ Mikey squeaked in alarm.

"Yeah, you saw me a bit more demonic than you’d want to remember, freaked you out a bit, so I made sure to dispense a bit of timely mind bleach. Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty, and you wouldn’t want to remember, trust me."

"Uhhh…"

"Trust me on this." Crowley re-iterated, and finished his coffee. "Anyway, we should get on the road again. Eat up, Angel." 

* * *

They swapped drivers in the van and carried on, stopping again at Poznań so the humans could take another rest break, swapped drivers and carried on. Despite not technically needing to sleep, Aziraphale could tell that Crowley was getting mentally fatigued at least, from the days of high tension. He could see that the demon was on edge with the uncertainty of what they’d find when they got to their destination 

The next stretch was on towards Warsaw, and the traffic was getting far heavier. Crowley was beginning to regret not taking a wider diversion to avoid the city. As the traffic snarled up, he brought the Bentley alongside the minibus to chat to them through the open window. 

Agata leant out to call over to him. "I went to University near here, I know a shortcut that will get us around the traffic! We take the next exit and go right, we can cut a corner and get moving. Follow us!" 

Crowley gave her a thumbs up. He might be able to get the Bentley through any traffic he liked, but without being in the van, he couldn’t do it for them as well. Once clear of the traffic though, they cruised on another couple of hours, a plan starting to form in Crowley’s mind. When they pulled over again somewhere past Warsaw, he had his thoughts in order. 

They sat down to a coffee and a frank discussion in a quiet corner of the service station restaurant. 

"Right, we know there’s some local mobsters who were working with Big Joe to scout you girls out and lure you to the UK. I know he’ll have said that if you ran away, they’d hurt your family, which is why the other girls were too afraid to come. Mr Beige promised you we’d keep you safe, and your families, and we meant it. From what I could tell, they’re part of a small local gang in your town, and Big Joe recruited them via his fixer Dmitri, who we took out back in Calais."

The girls nodded apprehensively. Sofia piped up. "There were a couple of guys who lured us on this side, the leader seemed to be a guy named Grzegorz. We thought he was a recruitment agent. He said he would organise our accommodation, transport, visas and everything - so he made us give him our passports - then we never saw them again. I challenged him after we had set off and we argued, I knew something wasn’t right, and he hit me, and some of the other girls too."

Both Crowley and Aziraphale glowered at that, and Aziraphale’s hand reached over to rest on top of Crowley’s as his suddenly strangely sharp nails (claws?) began gouging deep lines across the table top. He gave the demon a warning look, and Crowley took a deep breath and relaxed a little before carrying on.

"Well, we don’t want the threat of them hanging over you, so we need to deal with them too - but to do that we need to draw them out. I assume none of you have heard anything bad from your families?"

The women shook their heads. Crowley nodded. 

"Good. Now I’m guessing that when Joe realised we’d taken you away, he’d probably have informed the local gang and told them to stand by, in case his mob didn’t catch us in Calais, and I’m guessing they’ve been waiting by the phone ever since, awaiting further orders, and not knowing what’s going on. They’ll have had radio silence since we took out the lot in France, and are likely on edge. We have Andrej here, and Mikey, who we _could_ pass off as some of Joe’s gang, persuade them that it’s all ok, but I’m thinking they won’t fall for that. Instead I propose we get hold of this Grzegorz character if he’s the ringleader, and I outright tell him that I’ve disposed of Joe _and_ his second in command, Angus, and that I’m in charge now. He can stand down, or be taken down. His choice."

"But how will we find him?" Joanna was nervous. 

"Well, in short - and only if one of you is up for it - bait."

"Bait?" asked Ewa.

"Yes, if one of you is willing to go to your family first, while we hide all around nearby - I’m betting that Grzegorz and his gang are staking out your family’s homes waiting for further instructions, and to see what to do next. Now with no instructions so far I doubt they’ll be keen to start breaking knees, because if Big Joe is gone, then they’d be doing it for no monetary reward - all risk, no cash, so what’s in it for them? No incentive. But if they don’t yet know what happened to Big Joe, they may try to grab you while they find out." 

Crowley drew a breath. "And so _we_ grab _them_ \- make them call the rest out of hiding for a little frank discussion, tell them what’s what, and give them some light… _persuasion_ , that continuing on their life of crime is unlikely to end well."

"You think you can persuade them?" Maria almost laughed at the idea. Aziraphale gave her a **_look_ ** **.** Crowley smiled behind his hand, as the angel allowed just a little glimpse of his angelic aspect - just a sliver - to peek through his aura. Maria’s jaw dropped. Aziraphale smiled and relaxed, returning to normal again, and Maria collapsed back into her chair as if she’d just had a close call with something terrifying, but wasn’t sure what. 

"Now imagine that, but turned up to a hundred," Crowley remarked. “This angel has ways and means of persuading, as do I. His are rather nicer than mine. He’s good at reforming characters."

Lena spoke up. "I’ll do it. My father was a prize winning boxer when he was young, and mother grew up on a farm - so if they come into my house, with you all outside, and my family inside, I’m not afraid."

"Excellent." Aziraphale beamed at her. "We should get going, then." 

* * *

Lena phoned her parents first to let them know what was happening, and the group drove the final couple of hours to Orchówek. They decided to drop most of the girls off at a hotel nearby that was situated close to a police station in case of trouble, to keep them out of danger.

They carried on with Andrej driving the van. Crowley miracled up some local number plates for it and a fake taxi sign so it looked like a regular minibus dropping someone off. Mikey approached from several streets away on foot, as did Crowley and Aziraphale, and once they were in position, Andrej drove up to drop Lena near her front door. He then drove off to park the van a few streets away and walked back on foot, so that the house was surrounded on a few fronts. 

Crowley had slipped into a very small snake form to hide under a car and watch as Lena stepped out of the van and into the waiting arms of her mother, then inside. He scanned the area, and soon picked out someone sitting in a car at the end of the street who was on his phone trying to get hold of someone, and by the looks of it not having much luck. Crowley suspected he might be trying in vain to call Big Joe or Angus, or maybe one of the other guys on the English side who had come over to Calais for the ambush. 

After giving up with a frustrated look on his face, he began texting, then shoved his phone in his pocket, got out of the car, fetched something from the boot to hide in his jacket, and began to walk purposefully towards Lena’s house. He didn’t aim for the front door, but dodged around to the garden at the back, eyeing up the garden fence. Crowley was sure now this had to be one of the gang hoping to surprise Lena’s family. 

He slithered out from under the car and whip-fast across the road just as the guy climbed over the fence. Crowley then slithered upwards. He knew Aziraphale was in the other garden over the far side, and Mikey was hiding at the back of this garden. He hoped that Mikey was smart enough not to try to jump the guy too soon - Crowley would rather do that himself, especially seeing as he wasn’t certain what the guy had shoved under his jacket.

Crowley flicked his tongue out to taste the air for any scent of cordite or gunpowder, gun oil or similar that might indicate he was carrying a firearm, but found nothing. Good. He could do without being shot at again. The small snake dropped over the top of the garden fence into the unmowed grass beyond, just in time to see the guy trying the back door handle. It was locked, but it was a cheaply made wooden door, and Crowley saw him take a step back and prepare to kick it in to take those inside by surprise. 

The small snake suddenly rocketed up into an angry humanoid shaped demon at about the same time that a large, heavy metal trophy fell on the guy’s head and knocked him out cold.

Crowley paused in surprise as the villain hit the deck, and looked up - He saw a woman, presumably Lena’s mother, hanging out of the bathroom window holding another item - which turned out to be a boxing trophy, getting ready to throw it if the mobster showed any sign of getting up again. 

She stared in confusion at Crowley as well, having just seen a strange redheaded man appear as if out of nowhere in her garden. She drew her arm back to take aim with the other trophy at Crowley, who put his arms over his head at about the same time that Lena pulled her mother back inside. 

"Well," commented Aziraphale, dusting himself off after having clambered over the fence from the other side of the garden. "That went better than expected." He bent over and hefted the unconscious mobster over his shoulder just as Lena’s father opened the back door. Mikey emerged from the back of the garden, but Crowley turned to tell him to stay put and keep an eye out, and to text Andrej to tell him the same further down the street.

Lena came downstairs and invited Aziraphale to bring the gangster into the kitchen, while her mother fetched some washing line to tie him up with. Her father stood and looked on anxiously. He was mistrustful of Crowley, but Aziraphale exuded such an air of calmness and competence that he warmed to the angel immediately. 

"So you two helped my Lena get home?"

Aziraphale nodded, accepted the washing line from Lena’s mother, and began tying the mobster with expert knots. 

"Papa, this is Mr. Beige and Mr. Red. The man at the back of the garden is Mikey, then Andrej is down the street somewhere. They all helped us, plus some other men who are back in England. Gentlemen, this is my father, Marcin, and my mother, Zuzanna."

"A pleasure to meet you sir, madam," Aziraphale beamed and gave a small bow. Crowley gave a brief smile, considering their captive. Aziraphale wet a sponge in the kitchen sink and held it to the man’s head while taking his pulse with his other hand. 

"Look, this might get messy, shall we do this in the kitchen, or lug him up to the bathroom?" Crowley poked at the unconscious human experimentally.

"Messy?" Lena asked.

"Might have to ask him some questions that he’s not going to want to answer. You probably don’t want to watch. Oh, can I have a rummage in the kitchen drawers though? A few shiny sharp things always go down well for psychological intimidation…"

"Not my best carving knife!" snapped Zuzanna, then reached into a drawer and drew out another long, wickedly sharp knife. "... use this one instead," she offered with a wicked grin. "That scum stole my baby." She reached out to hug Lena protectively. "Marcin, you help these men."

Aziraphale shook his head. "That may not be advisable, sir, we may have to scare him somewhat and I’d rather you don’t get caught up in the fallout of that. If you would be so good as to continue keeping watch at the windows for if the others turn up. We’d rather they turn up at a time and place of our choosing. Lena - you said you knew a disused unit nearby we could probably use for that?"

"Yes, it’s an old storage warehouse, it’s due to be demolished soon probably."

"Well write down the address for us, we’ll entice the others there somehow, then go and stand watch with your parents while we deal with this one," Crowley said, grinning as the gangster was looking like he might be starting to come around. 

* * *

Crowley went through the mobster’s pockets and fished out his phone. The item in his jacket had fallen out as they lugged him in - a baseball bat. He set it aside in clear view, then inspected the contents of his wallet. 

"Credit card says he’s called Stefan." Crowley remarked as he flicked through the wallet then tossed it aside. He snapped up some plastic sheeting and handed it to Aziraphale to cover the floor and surfaces in the kitchen - more for the look of the thing really. Although he wouldn’t like to cross Zuzanna by splashing blood on her kitchen. 

He set out the knife he’d been given, then grabbed a few more kitchen implements at random. His eyes lit up when he found a small crème brûlée torch. He put that in pride of place, alongside the corkscrew, nutcrackers, carving knife, meat tenderiser, tongs, a pair of pliers he found in a junk drawer, and a lightbulb from the same drawer just for the hell of it. Next was a melon baller and a pineapple corer.

Aziraphale gave him a particularly odd look when he also set out a colander and a box of toothpicks. Added to the pile after that were an egg whisk, turkey baster, pastry brush, garlic press, wooden spoon and a spatula. When Crowley laid out a scrubbing brush with a comical rubber duck on the end of it, the angel finally cracked. 

"Crowley…?"

"Yup?" Crowley asked, picking up a pair of yellow rubber washing up gloves. 

"I can understand the sharp things and the tiny flamethrower, the meat tenderiser of course, but… what about the other items?"

"Exactly what he’ll be worrying when he sees them! And I can guarantee you that whatever horrible scenarios he thinks up that I might do with them will be much worse than anything I could actually think to use them for."

"You really are a truly demonic terror."

"Aww, thanks." Crowley nodded at the slightly twitching human on the floor. "Pop a bit of plastic down on the kitchen table then fling him on there, will you?" Make sure he can see the display."

Aziraphale lifted Stefan as if he weighed nothing at all, and laid him out on the table. "Should I bring him around with a miracle? I can miracle away his concussion so he can answer the questions clear-headed."

"Yeah, go on. Good cop, bad cop?"

Aziraphale considered the options. "How about _bad_ cop, bad cop?"

"Suits me just fine."

Stefan came around, eyes swivelling frantically around as he tried to take stock of his situation. 

"Goooooooood…," Crowley checked his watch, "....afternoon, Stefan. Lovely to have you here with us today. I’m Mr. Red, and this here is Second Lieutenant…"

"Mr. E." Aziraphale interjected smugly. Crowley looked at him askance. 

_"Mr. E?_ Mystery? _Really? That’s_ what you’re gonna go with?"

"I thought it was rather clever."

"Of course you did." Crowley rolled his eyes and picked up a rubber glove, pulling it on with a snap. The fact it was a washing up glove rather than a surgical one rather spoiled the effect he was going for. Then he picked up the egg whisk and grinned. "So, Stefan. We’d like you to answer a few questions."

Stefan looked confused, and scared. 

"What are you going to do with _that?"_

"This?" Crowley asked, inspecting the egg whisk in his hand. "Oh, nothing, just going to whip up an omelette for my colleague here while he asks you some questions, he gets grouchy when he’s peckish, you see. So he can have a snack once you’ve finished telling him everything he wants to know."

Crowley opened the fridge and took out some eggs, cracked them into a bowl and began whisking, while Aziraphale stepped forward. 

"Want me to pass you the lightbulb?" Crowley asked as Aziraphale stood in front of Stefan. 

"Not yet, thank you. I think Stefan will be more than ready to open up to us before that becomes necessary."

Stefan whimpered in confused fear, which was nothing to the abject terror which rushed in as soon as Aziraphale opened his wings and thousands of eyes manifested around his aura, every single one of them piercing straight into the mobster’s soul and exposing 

Every. 

Single. 

Bad. 

Deed. 

...That he had ever done.

* * *

Lena knocked on the kitchen door when the screaming had been going on for about two minutes unabated. Crowley answered it, with a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. An omelette sizzled in the pan. 

"Yup?"

"What are you doing?"

"Making lunch," Crowley replied, holding the frying pan up by way of explanation. 

"And the screaming?"

"Mr. Beige is hungry, Stefan is delaying him eating his lunch, Stefan is regretting getting between an angel and his lunch. It’s ok, he’ll stop screaming soon then start giving some answers."

"But _you’re_ the demon - he’s not screaming because of you?"

"Nah - angels are way scarier usually. But all he’s doing is showing Stefan his own soul. That kind of thing can really put a crimp on your day. He’ll be starting to re-evaluate his life choices right about now."

"Uh…"

"Well, better get back to it, should I make a few more for you folks?"

"Um, no, that’s ok."

"Righto." Crowley nudged the door shut again. The screaming did, indeed begin to abate, and devolved into frantic whimpering noises. Crowley plated up the omelette and handed it over to Aziraphale with a fork. The angel stared at it. 

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

Crowley looked hurt. "I can make a better one if you don’t like plain?"

"No, I meant how am I supposed to eat it?"

"With the fork."

"But Stefan is on the table."

"Eat it standing up."

"I’m not an _animal_ , Crowley."

"Suit yourself." Crowley went through to the next room, said "excuse me," picked up a side table, and carried it through to the kitchen with him, kicking the door closed again behind him. He placed the spare table down and pulled up a chair in front of it. "There you go."

"Thank you, dear." Aziraphale sat down and began to eat. Stefan was sniffing, with tears streaming down his face. By the time Aziraphale had finished his food, the gangster was begging to answer questions. 

"Please, please, Mr. E. What do you need? Please tell me…" Stefan was whimpering plaintively. 

"How many are in your gang that Big Joe recruited?"

"Four! Please forgive me, please…"

"Names?" Crowley hissed in his ear.

"Mariusz, Tomasz, Grzegorz and me… please, please forgive me…"

"Oh, I can’t do that I’m afraid, I’m a demon. Unforgivable, that’s what I am. Can’t exactly go forgiving humans when I can’t even be forgiven myself can I? Now, where are the rest?"

"Around the town, Grzegorz is in charge, he’s staying outside the house of one of the other girls, Mariusz and Tomasz are driving around the others keeping watch, once I said one girl is back, they are seeing who else comes back."

"Any more?" Crowley demanded.

"No! I swear, no more, Dariusz went to England three years ago, we haven’t seen him, we haven’t heard from him for two days."

Crowley leaned in closer. "And you’re not going to either. Big Joe is gone, Angus is gone, Dariusz is gone, are you seeing a pattern here?"

Stefan nodded rapidly, trying to lean away from the demon’s face - those teeth looked far too sharp to be human. 

"That’s right - I’m in charge now. Which means you all work for me." Crowley leaned in extra close, to hiss in his ear. "And you’re going to do _exactly_ what I sssssssssay…." 

He abruptly stepped back, grabbed Stefan’s shoulder and rolled him over onto his front. He picked up the carving knife, making the mobster scream out in panic, then brought it down rapidly and cut through the washing line binding Stefan’s hands behind his back. He stepped back and put the knife aside, then tossed Stefan’s phone to him. 

"Text them exactly what I say."


	10. Vengeance or Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena shows her mettle, our gang find a way to trap the rest of the local mobsters, Aziraphale dispenses some Divine Insight, some criminals seek redemption, some... do not. Either way, justice is served. Some new career paths are considered all round, and our ineffables head for home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: violence, blood, injuries, bad guy death.**

Aziraphale eyed up the derelict storage unit, it was about half a mile away from Lena’s house. He tried the door. It was locked. 

"How are we going to get in?"

Crowley grinned. "Magic!"

He sauntered a few feet away, picked up a bit of rubble from the ground, hefted it thoughtfully for a moment, then smashed the window next to the door.

"See? Magic!" He cackled, then climbed in through the broken window and went to open the door from the inside.

Crowley, Aziraphale, Mikey, and Andrej entered the unit, dragging Stefan with them. Lena’s father had wanted to come along too, but Aziraphale had explained that it would be much better to stay at home for now. Lena, however, insisted on coming along, bringing her mother’s old carving knife, as well as the baseball bat that Stefan had tried to bring in initially. Given the look on her face, Crowley decided not to push his luck, so here she was. 

Stefan was kneeling in the middle of the filthy concrete floor, head bowed, still crying now and then, and not entirely over having witnessed the state of his own soul. He had no intention of even trying to run, he knew there was no point - the angel could find him wherever he fled. The angel could see EVERYTHING. 

Stefan had texted each mobster to arrive at a set time - at ten minute intervals, starting with Mariusz. They heard a car pull up outside, a door slam, then a tall, skinny guy in a brown leather jacket, torn jeans, and cheap scruffy trainers walked in.

"Stefan? You got the bitch here, you said?"

"This ‘bitch’ has got you here." Lena declared, stepping out from behind the door and smashing his knees with the baseball bat. Crowley nodded approvingly as the gangster went down, and was rather glad he hadn’t argued the point about her coming along. 

Mariusz, tied up and gagged, on the floor next to Stefan, they waited a little while, and heard the crunch of gravel as another car pulled up outside - this one sounded like it was running on three cylinders, but it turned out it was just a stolen Subaru Impreza when Crowley peeked out through a crack in the wall. 

Lena insisted on hiding behind the door again, and this time Tomasz went down with a startled "oof", curling up on the floor winded as bat met stomach. Andrej tied him up next to Mariusz.

"One left to go," Crowley observed. Lena hefted the baseball bat again with a grim smile. 

"I recognise that one," she remarked, nodding towards Tomasz. "He was there when we had our passports taken." Both tied mobsters stared up at her wide-eyed. Stefan was still sniffing quietly to himself though. Having got a description of Grzegorz from Stefan, Aziraphale was taking no chances, and positioned himself on the other side of the doorway from Lena just in case. 

It took a little while before they heard another car pull up outside, but no car door opening. Crowley peered through the crack in the wall and saw who was presumably Grzegorz sitting in a white Audi R8, looking suspiciously at the other two cars already outside. He was evidently rather more cautious, and smelled a trap. He beeped his horn instead, to get someone to come out. 

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…" Crowley muttered. He glanced over at Stefan, wondering how useful he might be in his current state, how obedient. Could they maybe trust him to entice Grzegorz in without doing a runner or coming across too weird in his current state of existential crisis not to make the mob boss flee as well? _Think, Crowley, think...._

Aziraphale piped up. "Andrej! Do you think you can pass yourself off as one of Big Joe’s gang?" Andrej shrugged but nodded.

"Maybe?"

"Good. Lena: I want you to run for the door, Andrej: run after her, grab her just after she gets outside and drag her back in again. Look up at Grzegorz, nod at him and wave at him to show he should come in."

Lena set her weapons aside grudgingly, and nodded to Andrej. She kicked at some loose debris to make some noise as if there was a struggle first, while ruffling her hair and clothes a bit, then ran for the half open door. Andrej paused a moment, then gave chase. Mikey watched over the 3 others on the floor, while Crowley watched Grzegorz through the crack in the wall, and Aziraphale stood by the door. 

Andrej pulled Lena back through the door again a moment later. She flung herself on the ground and hissed at Andrej to sit on her, as if he were restraining her. He hesitated, then did, and they all heard the slam of the car door. A thought occurred to Mikey and he nudged Stefan urgently. "Oi, does Grzegorz have a gun?"

Stefan was still mostly out of it, detached from reality. Mikey flicked his ear, trying to get his attention as they heard feet crunching over gravel outside, getting closer. _"Hey,"_ he hissed in Stefan’s ear, _"does Grzegorz have a fucking_ ** _gun?"_** Stefan just blinked and swayed slightly, but didn’t reply. Mikey turned to Mariusz, bound and gagged next to him and nudged him with a toe urgently. "Hey, you, nod if Grzegorz has a gun." Mariusz just glared at him and shrugged. 

"Fuck’s sake." Mikey tensed as the footsteps stopped outside the door, then Grzegorz walked in.

The first thing he saw was Lena on the floor, with the stranger restraining her. He recognised the girl, but not the guy. Crowley was relieved to see the confusion on his face, and decided to strike before he could turn to the left and see his crew tied up or otherwise helpless with Mikey. 

Grzegorz caught the flicker of movement and ducked just as Crowley launched at him, the pair went crashing to the ground together, Crowley hissing and clawing like a furious cat. Grzegorz didn’t have a gun, but he did have a knife, and allowed it to drop from his sleeve holster into his hand as the enraged redhead grappled with him, lashing out wildly. 

Crowley swore and rolled back, realising that he’d been hit _again,_ and Grzegorz scrambled to his feet, holding the blade out in front of him, now noticing his erstwhile crewmates across the room, which was all he got time to register before Aziraphale hit him with the force of an angel fully capable of punching a hole in the wall of Eden. 

Grzegorz went down, stunned but somehow still conscious, Aziraphale’s punch having been a glancing blow rather than a direct hit. The angel stooped down to remove the knife, before realising that Crowley hadn’t got up yet. 

"Crowley!" He scrambled over to the demon, who was grimacing and swearing on the floor. 

"Bassssstard," Crowley was hissing. "Third fucking time in as many days, should just paint a fucking target on my arse at this point."

"Where did he get you?" 

"Right in my fucking arse cheek, bloody twat!"

"Well that’s what you get for tempting fate, you ridiculous demon."

"Wasn’t a nuke, doesn’t count. How’s it look?"

Aziraphale was tugging at Crowley’s overly tight jeans. "I don’t know; I can’t peel your dratted second skin off. Undo that silly belt, will you?"

"Of all the ways I imagined you getting me out of my trousers, this was not the scenario I imagined," Crowley growled, grappling at his belt buckle.

_"What?"_

"Nothing. How bad is it?"

Aziraphale gawped for a moment, trying to mentally process Crowley’s words, then remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and yanked the demon’s jeans down, while Andrej came over to restrain Grzegorz from getting up. 

"It doesn’t look deep, maybe needs a stitch or two, here, I’ll pop my handkerchief over it for now and the tightness of your jeans should be enough to provide pressure on it until we can get you patched up, I’m sure."

"Great, now I’m going to have an unfashionable arse."

"No one will be able to see the tartan inside your jeans."

Crowley grumbled and clambered to his feet. "Anyone else want to stab me? Form an orderly queue, let’s get this over and done with, plenty of spots left to choose from."

"That’s him!" Lena was pointing at Grzegorz. "He’s the one who hit Sofia when she asked where he took our passports and asked for hers back. He broke her cheekbone."

Aziraphale and Crowley both turned to glare at the prone mob boss. Lena continued. "He beat up another girl too, she disappeared later though, we don’t know where she went."

"Issss that sssso?" Crowley grabbed the scruff of Grzegorz’s shirt and yanked his head up. The human tried to focus on the angry demon in front of him with difficulty. 

"It takes a sssspecial kind of lowlife to beat up a woman," Crowley hissed threateningly. His patience for holding back was fast evaporating with the combination of a fresh cut on his backside, the steri-stripped one at the side of his waist, and the multiple tiny punctures of the birdshot on his hip on the other side, all aggravating him at once. Crowley’s usually ironclad self-control over his corporation was slipping and his nails were morphing into sharp claws. His fangs were lengthening and he could feel the shimmer of scales beginning to ripple up his spine. 

_"Crowley…"_ Aziraphale warned, seeing the demon start to slip. "Remember we have innocent humans in here as well."

"Sssssso?"

"You already scared Mikey, you don’t want poor Lena and Andrej to go through that as well do you?"

Crowley dug his claws in a bit deeper so that they just punctured the skin at the back of Grzegorz’s neck. He was growling deep in his chest, fighting an internal battle of a desire for vengeance, versus a desire not to further traumatise the other humans. Finally, he flung the mobster to the ground. "You deal with him then." Crowley snapped, stalking off as he tried to get control over his corporation. 

"I think, perhaps, all things considered, that you three should step outside for a few minutes," Aziraphale advised the humans. "There will likely be more screaming." Lena, Andrej and Mikey nodded and left, and Aziraphale dragged Grzegorz over with the other three, and tied him up before expending a small healing miracle to bring him back to his senses. He spat at Aziraphale angrily.

The angel walked slowly up and down the line of four mobsters sitting on the floor, hands behind his back. Three pairs of defiant eyes followed his movements. Stefan, still untied and kneeling, carried on staring at the floor in stunned silence. Crowley prowled in the background, hissing under his breath. 

Aziraphale removed the gags that had stopped Mariusz and Tomasz from calling out to warn Grzegorz, then stood before them, his face stern. 

"Gentlemen," Aziraphale announced. "I am given to understand that you have been working in partnership with a certain British gangster known by the name of ‘Big Joe,’ and have been not only helping to trick impressionable young women into slave labour, but also threatening their families in order to keep them amenable to their deplorable treatment."

Stefan whimpered and started to cry again. The other three simply glared at him. Aziraphale continued. "Well, my esteemed colleague over there sent Big Joe to the depths of hell a couple of days ago. He then did the same with his second-in-command, Angus, and several others from his mob. Those left alive very much wish they weren’t." He paused to nod at the whimpering Stefan. 

"Actions, gentlemen, have consequences, as your friend here has discovered. As you don’t seem inclined to listen to what I have to say on the matter, judging from your expressions, perhaps it’s time for a bit of introspection. A journey in self-discovery, if you will…"

With that, Aziraphale allowed his angelic aspect to come to the fore, including his wings, and a multitude of piercing blue-grey eyes manifested around him, every single one staring deep into the souls of the bound humans, peeling away layer after layer of denial and lies, to expose the truth of every sick and twisted deed they had ever committed. 

Each human felt exposed, more naked than the day they were born, unable to lie or hide a single thing from the vengeful angel before them, as he showed them the tarnish on their souls - like thick, black dripping tar, oozing from their hearts and staining their auras with sin.

Mariusz and Tomasz began to scream. Stefan was already wrung out and simply cowered and whimpered more at the noise - his own horrors had already been exposed. Crowley paused in his restless stalking to stare at Grzegorz.

Grzegorz was not screaming.

Grzegorz was _laughing_.

Aziraphale was horrified. He stared at Crowley in confusion. The demon stalked closer, peering intently at the gang boss. 

"Give it some more," he growled at the angel. 

Aziraphale grimaced and redoubled his efforts. Grzegorz didn’t flinch. 

"More," Crowley instructed.

"I can’t, that’s it."

"Surely there must be something else you can do?"

"I’m doing everything I can, and don’t call me Shirley." Aziraphale snapped. Crowley blinked at him in surprise. 

"Did _you_ just make a cultural reference joke at _me?"_

"What?" Aziraphale was distracted, focussed on the mob boss.

"Never mind, keep at it, maybe he’ll crack."

A couple of minutes elapsed, and Grzegorz’s attitude hadn’t changed. He might as well have been at a cinema watching a comedy for all the effect it had on him. The angel revealed to his mind’s eye the frauds, robberies, threats, assaults, tortures, and murders. The mobster smiled wider.

"I’ve never seen that reaction before," Aziraphale divulged. 

"I have," Crowley growled, darkly. "Not often. Count yourself lucky you haven’t met the other people who did."

"What happened to them?"

"Got them all down below. You’re not saving this one. Not even Gabriel himself could save their souls. He’s damned through and through. He’s evil."

"Surely no one is past redemption?"

"Angel, he’s looking at everything you’re showing him, and he’s _enjoying_ it. He’s fucking _proud_ of it. He wants…," Crowley emphasised, "... to do **_more_ **."

Aziraphale shuddered in revulsion. The screams of the other two carried on as they were forced to empathise with their victims, seeing things as if it had happened to them. The Divine Insight searing across their souls like a flamethrower. Meanwhile, Grzegorz’s laughter continued unabated, more terrifying than the screams. Stefan was now curled up in the foetal position on the floor, hiding his head in his hands. The Divine Terror for Stefan had long since subsided into the hollow emptiness of a soul that has been scoured empty, and awaits a new purpose.

Aziraphale folded his wings away and dimmed. Mariusz and Tomasz were at the helpless whimpering stage, begging for forgiveness in incoherent sobs. Grzegorz grinned up at angel and demon.

"Is that it?" He challenged. "You think I want to stop?" He leaned closer, straining at his bonds. "I'm only just getting _started_. There’s plenty more naïve girls out there, they believe all the pretty lies. I can get more men if you’ve broken these three. There’s teenage boys who see my car, they want to be like me, they want to work for me, they’re easy enough to find and train up, to get their loyalty."

Aziraphale was at a loss. He’d never experienced such depths of evil from a human before. He’d heard of them - some of the most famous psychopaths and dictators of the world. Crowley stepped close to Aziraphale’s shoulder. "Shakespeare said it to you once, we were all drunk together and he was writing that new play, remember? ‘Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.’ I’ve told you these bastards can think up stuff far worse than anything we can down there sometimes. This is one of them."

Aziraphale nodded. He went to untie the other two, and they slumped over where they sat. He was at a loss as to what to do with Grzegorz, and hesitated next to him, dithering.

Grzegorz, although his hands were tied, and kneeling on the floor, launched himself sideways and bit into Aziraphale’s calf muscle, hanging on like a terrier as the angel hopped awkwardly and then fell over, going down hard on the unforgiving concrete, the deranged human’s teeth still sunk into his leg. 

Before Aziraphale could think of what to do, Crowley was there, hissing and enraged, his body once more losing its grip on the ability to remain entirely human-looking, his skin flecked with black shining scales. Lethally sharp long claws ripped into the gangster’s flesh and tore him off the angel, and then fangs far sharper than any human’s teeth were buried into Grzegorz’s shoulder. His cheeks stung as the demonic venom was released deep into the gangster’s flesh. This time it _wasn’t_ the paralyzing sort. 

Finally, Grzegorz began to scream. 

The venom burned like hellfire through his veins, pulsing around his body with his blood, burning his internal organs, searing them to shrivelled, charred pieces of meat as it went, his heart turning as black as any demon’s. In the last moments of consciousness, Grzegorz finally felt the pain of his victims, but it was too late, and hell opened to welcome his soul as it sank from his body. 

Aziraphale was still sitting on the floor, hand clasped to his bleeding leg, staring in shock at the cursed gangster, his ethereal vision able to see the inevitable direction his tainted soul was taking. Meanwhile, having recently had their illusions stripped away by angelic grace, the other three humans were also able to see. The effect would wear off after a while, but the only thing stopping them from breaking into horrified screams again was the fact that they had screamed themselves empty already. Seeing with certainty what would have been in store for their own souls cemented their resolve to turn over a new leaf. 

It was Crowley’s turn to fuss over Aziraphale, who waved him off. 

"I’m fine, Crowley, I can miracle my injuries away, it’s a shame yours won’t respond to miracles the same way." He snapped at his leg to heal it up, then paused, thinking. "You said that _you_ couldn’t heal your wounds, but perhaps _I_ could try _for_ you?"

Crowley hesitated, unsure. No angel had ever tried to heal a demon before. He had no idea if it was even possible. He shuffled to sit closer to Aziraphale.

"Draw up a tiny bit of power, just a fingertip," he instructed. Aziraphale lifted his hand and did so. Crowley reached out tentatively to the small healing spark waiting there, keeping his hand a few inches away from Aziraphale’s while the power was active, feeling for any painful sensation from the proximity and finding none, then slowly moved closer.

Then he tentatively touched Aziraphale’s fingertip with his own, wincing in anticipation of a holy burn. 

Nothing happened. 

Crowley unscrunched his features in surprise. 

"Well, I guess that answers that then. Give it a go."

Aziraphale moved forward and first laid his hand over Crowley’s hip, drawing out the small fragments of lead shot with a minor miracle, then healing the puncture wounds. Next, Crowley rolled over a bit, so that Aziraphale could lay his hand over the demon’s waist on the other side, healing the cut on his flank. Then Aziraphale hesitated. 

Blushing furiously, he finally laid his hand on Crowley’s backside and dispensed the healing miracle to the stab wound there. Crowley bit his lip, and avoided eye contact, also blushing to the tips of his toes. 

"Is that alright?" Aziraphale murmured.

"Mmmmph, uh, yeah, ‘s good, thanks. Feels good."

There was a pause. 

"... You can move your hand now, if you want."

"Oh!" Aziraphale yanked his hand back, embarrassed. "Well, we ought to deal with this lot, I suppose…" He got to his feet and extended a hand to Crowley to help him up as well, then stepped over to the three mostly catatonic and extremely repentant mobsters. He laid his hand on each of their heads in turn, sending forth a small blessing, easing their anxieties and bringing them back into a more human state of mind. They blinked and cringed as they came back to reality. 

"Each of you have been given a second chance." Aziraphale told them. "You are going to start volunteering with the La Strada foundation to help prevent trafficking and modern slavery using your own knowledge of the system. You will devote the rest of your lives to helping people at risk of being exploited."

Aziraphale called out to the other humans outside. "Lena! Andrej! Mikey! You can come back in now, it’s safe."

The trio came back in, Lena casting a disgusted but triumphant look over at what was left of Grzegorz. Stefan, Tomasz and Mariusz immediately began apologising to her profusely. 

"Lena?" Aziraphale interrupted. "These men have sought forgiveness and forsaken their evil ways. Rest assured they will be protecting you, the other women, and all the residents of Orchówek from now on. You and your families need not fear reprisals from them anymore. Would you go with Andrej in the van to collect the other ladies, let them know, and drop them each off at their homes?"

"Of course, Thank you Mr. Beige."

"Please, call me Aziraphale."

Lena ran forward and hugged the angel. 

"Thank you for everything," she turned to smile at the demon. "And Mr. Red?"

"Crowley."

"Thank you Mr. Crowley, and Andrej, and Mikey. Will you go back to rescue the others in England too?"

Crowley raised an eyebrow at Mikey. "How about it? Career change for you?"

Mikey considered his options, given everything he’d seen over the past few days, and exchanged a look with Andrej, who nodded. 

"Yeah, probably time to get out of the mob business I guess."

"Well then," Crowley announced. "Let me know what resources you need for getting the others out, I’ll do what I can. Keep the van for starters. You might as well take Grzegorz’s Audi as well." 

* * *

A few hours later, angel and demon climbed into the Bentley, and pointed her nose westwards once again. Aziraphale pondered as they drove. 

"Do you suppose you’ll get in trouble?"

Crowley shrugged. "D’you think _you_ will?"

"Well, you sent a few down to Hell. I saved a few souls and made them into reformed characters. Could be a simple thwarting excuse. For you, you followed the instructions, and ensured that some souls were claimed. Do you think they’ll notice the _how_?" 

"They never usually do. They don’t generally bother checking up on me. Souls went down, management will be happy with that."

Aziraphale fished out a map from behind the front seat and inspected it, glancing up at a road sign in confusion. 

"Crowley…?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you told me you were very proud of the M25…"

"Yeah, got a commendation for that one."

"...Did you, by any chance, have a hand in the S2 around Warsaw as well?"

Crowley shifted in his seat a bit. 

"... Might have done," he admitted.

"I mean this bit of motorway just… gives up and stops right there. Then you have to turn off and go all the way around for no apparent reason…"

"Yeah…."

"So…?" Aziraphale looked at him expectantly. 

"What?"

"...What did you do?"

"... I got drunk and passed out for a year."

"Crowley, you can be so destructive…"

"I can?"

"That wasn’t permission."

"Oh."

They drove on in silence a little longer. The drive home was considerably faster than the outward journey had been, now that they no longer had to go slow for the humans in the van. The Bentley was zipping through traffic as if it weren’t there at all. 

"So no lingering pain from your injuries then?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Nope, good as new, thanks, Angel."

"Well at least now you know you can come to me for help when you get injured."

"... Yeah…" Cogs were whirring slowly in Crowley’s head. Then suddenly he was remembering his backside and he coughed, embarrassed. "...Anyway, are you satisfied now that my assignments aren’t all a piece of piss?"

"It’s nothing we couldn’t handle."

"You’re so depressingly optimistic, y’know that?"

"Well I think you can stop filtering out your more difficult jobs now, don’t you?"

Crowley made an awkward face with some disgruntled consonants thrown in for good measure, culminating in a shrug. 

"... Or we could do a few more together. Just to get the hang of it." Aziraphale suggested with a sly smile. 

Crowley glanced across at him, and cracked into a smile as well. 

"Ok, yeah, you’re just enough of a bastard. You win."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who helped me with this one, I enjoyed writing it, even if the ineffable bastards derailed my original plan with their nonsense, I like how it turned out, even if it is a bit of an odd mashup of dark and humour. 
> 
> When I doubted myself I just try to remember there are deaths in the Good Omens book, and yukky stuff like Hastur turning into maggots and devouring everyone in a call centre - so combining darker themes along with comedy, especially Aziraphale and Crowley bickering, kind of fits.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional thanks to:  
> ~Emry~  
> Inkibus/Augenblickgotter  
> Vgersix (honeybees discord)  
> Nik | onthedriftinthetardis (honeybees discord)  
> Kharismon on tumblr (stab quote)  
> Elwyst  
> Yvesriba  
> ... For all the brainstorming and suggestions.


End file.
